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 Oman and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Howard Jones to the grunge kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog. All the underground hits.
All Massinfluence tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sister Nancy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jerry's Kids record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The American Breed,
Chrome,
Anthony Braxton,
Cecil Taylor,
Albert Ayler,
The Beau Brummels,
Funky Four + One,
Dawn Penn,
Jacques Brel,
Flamin' Groovies,
H. Thieme,
Bang On A Can,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Underground Resistance,
Matthew Halsall,
Sexual Harrassment,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Subhumans,
T.S.O.L.,
Popol Vuh,
8 Eyed Spy,
Shuggie Otis,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Cramps,
Porter Ricks,
Al Stewart,
Joensuu 1685,
Roy Ayers,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Moebius,
Bob Dylan,
Suicide,
Sarah Menescal,
Amon Düül,
Cybotron,
The Knickerbockers,
Siglo XX,
Bootsy Collins,
Eurythmics,
Brass Construction,
The Real Kids,
Wire,
The Busters,
Make Up,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Sound,
Gang of Four,
Echospace,
Ken Boothe,
Das Ding,
Eric Dolphy,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
In Retrospect,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
the Association,
The Slackers,
Tubeway Army,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Divine Comedy,
Jeff Mills,
Gang Gang Dance,
Minutemen, Minutemen, Minutemen, Minutemen.
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.