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 Uzbekistan and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 harpsichord 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 Gang Green to the disco 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 Eve St. Jones. All the underground hits.
All the Association tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hoover 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pantytec,
R.M.O.,
The Modern Lovers,
Von Mondo,
The Cowsills,
This Heat,
Crispian St. Peters,
Eddi Front,
Mark Hollis,
Skaos,
The Leaves,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Walker Brothers,
Peter and Kerry,
The Tremeloes,
Country Teasers,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Blues Magoos,
Letta Mbulu,
kango's stein massive,
Ludus,
Yazoo,
Alice Coltrane,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Electric Prunes,
Cybotron,
Harpers Bizarre,
Sällskapet,
Howard Jones,
Zapp,
Kayak,
James White and The Blacks,
Sister Nancy,
Bill Wells,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Ohio Players,
Drive Like Jehu,
Warsaw,
Bizarre Inc.,
Fluxion,
Suburban Knight,
Franke,
Mary Jane Girls,
Gastr Del Sol,
Rapeman,
the Germs,
the Fania All-Stars,
Jerry Gold Smith,
ABBA,
JFA,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Television,
Marcia Griffiths,
Unwound,
Cluster,
Little Man,
Nation of Ulysses,
Scion,
Eric B and Rakim,
Jacob Miller,
Gichy Dan,
Quadrant,
Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys.
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.