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 Iceland and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 A Flock of Seagulls to the punk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 The Smiths. All the underground hits.
All Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mad Mike record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sarah Menescal,
Yaz,
48th St. Collective,
Alice Coltrane,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Saints,
Chris Corsano,
Negative Approach,
The Barracudas,
Albert Ayler,
John Holt,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Reuben Wilson,
The Moleskins,
Reagan Youth,
The Young Rascals,
Magma,
The Last Poets,
Wasted Youth,
Graham Central Station,
The Gun Club,
John Lydon,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
F. McDonald,
Anakelly,
Sandy B,
Sparks,
The Associates,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Brick,
Terrestrial Tones,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Evens,
Accadde A,
Subhumans,
Vainqueur,
Moebius,
Interpol,
Yellowson,
The Count Five,
Q and Not U,
Pantytec,
Patti Smith,
Tubeway Army,
The Stooges,
Cal Tjader,
Dawn Penn,
Inner City,
Donald Byrd,
Rosa Yemen,
Althea and Donna,
June Days,
The Gap Band,
New Age Steppers,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Slackers,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Boredoms,
The Fire Engines,
Darondo, Darondo, Darondo, Darondo.
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.