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 Guyana and from Calgary.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Bobby Byrd to the techno 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 Von Mondo. All the underground hits.
All Goldenarms tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every R.M.O. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bluetip,
Funky Four + One,
Wally Richardson,
The Litter,
The Red Krayola,
Goldenarms,
The Moleskins,
Los Fastidios,
London Community Gospel Choir,
David Bowie,
Franke,
Crooked Eye,
Pantytec,
The American Breed,
Stereo Dub,
Laurel Aitken,
Nirvana,
Chris Corsano,
Symarip,
Thee Headcoats,
Duran Duran,
The Busters,
Gang Green,
Deepchord,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Tremeloes,
Rhythm & Sound,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Grey Daturas,
Mad Mike,
The Raincoats,
Make Up,
Cymande,
The Star Department,
Crispian St. Peters,
Alton Ellis,
Urselle,
The Sound,
PIL,
Rekid,
Siglo XX,
Talk Talk,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Marc Almond,
Yazoo,
New Age Steppers,
Marmalade,
Tubeway Army,
Robert Hood,
Magma,
The Residents,
Hasil Adkins,
T. Rex,
Hot Snakes,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Last Poets,
The Neon Judgement,
cv313,
Mark Hollis,
The J.B.'s,
Fela Kuti,
Amon Düül II,
The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps.
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.