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 Namibia and from Copenhagen.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Silicon Teens to the rock kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Frankie Knuckles. All the underground hits.
All Sad Lovers and Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gastr Del Sol record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 a spring reverb and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sun Ra Arkestra record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rapeman,
Delon & Dalcan,
This Heat,
Godley & Creme,
the Bar-Kays,
Howard Jones,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Selecter,
Rhythm & Sound,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Stetsasonic,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Mr. Review,
The Beau Brummels,
Traffic Nightmare,
Anakelly,
Nico,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Ken Boothe,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
B.T. Express,
Brand Nubian,
Drexciya,
The Fire Engines,
CMW,
The Star Department,
Donny Hathaway,
DJ Sneak,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Minutemen,
Grey Daturas,
Jesper Dahlback,
Zero Boys,
Gang Starr,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Terry Callier,
Erykah Badu,
Tubeway Army,
Minny Pops,
The Moody Blues,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Black Pus,
Bob Dylan,
Black Flag,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Malaria!,
Japan,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Victims,
Kaleidoscope,
Desert Stars,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Modern Lovers,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Aural Exciters,
The Searchers,
Soft Cell,
Pantaleimon,
the Germs,
Aswad, Aswad, Aswad, Aswad.
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.