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 Estonia and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Lille.
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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 The Fugs to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. All the underground hits.
All JFA tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fluxion 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Gang Dance record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Iggy Pop,
Buzzcocks,
The Motions,
Roxette,
Ultimate Spinach,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Urselle,
Cameo,
Goldenarms,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Fire Engines,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Gories,
Khruangbin,
Sun City Girls,
Circle Jerks,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Gregory Isaacs,
China Crisis,
Schoolly D,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Los Fastidios,
Bronski Beat,
The Blackbyrds,
Ludus,
Blancmange,
The Human League,
Brass Construction,
Mars,
Cybotron,
X-102,
Bang On A Can,
Sun Ra,
Excepter,
Wolf Eyes,
Whodini,
The Moleskins,
Zero Boys,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Mr. Review,
Wally Richardson,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Boz Scaggs,
Gerry Rafferty,
Scientists,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Camberwell Now,
Man Eating Sloth,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
June of 44,
Harry Pussy,
Rakim,
Bootsy Collins,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Durutti Column,
Subhumans,
Fluxion,
Mo-Dettes,
OOIOO,
Bill Near, Bill Near, Bill Near, Bill Near.
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.