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 Grenada and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Richard Hell and the Voidoids to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Pulsallama. All the underground hits.
All Terrestrial Tones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every David Axelrod record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ornette Coleman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rites of Spring,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Cecil Taylor,
Eve St. Jones,
The Index,
Rapeman,
Wasted Youth,
The Blues Magoos,
Buzzcocks,
June of 44,
The Alarm Clocks,
Ossler,
David Axelrod,
Soulsonic Force,
A Certain Ratio,
Eric Copeland,
Cluster,
the Swans,
Howard Jones,
Stetsasonic,
Hot Snakes,
E-Dancer,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Los Fastidios,
Deadbeat,
Moss Icon,
Avey Tare,
The Trojans,
Johnny Osbourne,
Supertramp,
The Cowsills,
Babytalk,
Soft Machine,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Charles Mingus,
Blossom Toes,
Jeru the Damaja,
China Crisis,
Oblivians,
Whodini,
Donald Byrd,
Trumans Water,
Fela Kuti,
Grey Daturas,
The Seeds,
Excepter,
Wally Richardson,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Index,
Pagans,
Lindisfarne,
Smog,
Basic Channel,
The Flesh Eaters,
John Cale,
Motorama,
Depeche Mode,
The Moody Blues,
The Toasters,
Marvin Gaye,
Television Personalities,
Drexciya,
Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox.
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.