Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Uganda and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Chrome to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Gang of Four. All the underground hits.
All Art Ensemble Of Chicago tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dead C record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The J.B.'s record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Kinks,
The Associates,
Amon Düül,
Japan,
Gastr Del Sol,
Kerri Chandler,
Heaven 17,
Juan Atkins,
Reuben Wilson,
Silicon Teens,
Terry Callier,
Zapp,
Deepchord,
Desert Stars,
New York Dolls,
Scientists,
Josef K,
Sister Nancy,
The United States of America,
Jeff Lynne,
Donald Byrd,
Bronski Beat,
F. McDonald,
Trumans Water,
The Fugs,
Connie Case,
Au Pairs,
Duran Duran,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Danielle Patucci,
The Fire Engines,
B.T. Express,
The Doors,
Henry Cow,
Bootsy Collins,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Talk Talk,
Isaac Hayes,
The Golliwogs,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Al Stewart,
Kas Product,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Freddie Wadling,
Toni Rubio,
Second Layer,
Black Pus,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Drive Like Jehu,
ABC,
Judy Mowatt,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
X-102,
Crispian St. Peters,
Black Sheep,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Reagan Youth,
Gil Scott Heron,
Tom Boy,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Five Americans,
Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.