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 Philippines and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 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 A Flock of Seagulls to the dance 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 Marshall Jefferson. All the underground hits.
All Arthur Verocai tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every LL Cool J record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s 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 Make Up record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Agent Orange,
The Dirtbombs,
Josef K,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Wire,
Derrick May,
EPMD,
The Cowsills,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Tremeloes,
Camberwell Now,
Yaz,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Mad Mike,
A Flock of Seagulls,
H. Thieme,
Leonard Cohen,
Delon & Dalcan,
Metal Thangz,
Buzzcocks,
The Standells,
Young Marble Giants,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Nation of Ulysses,
Soft Cell,
Ohio Players,
Scrapy,
Anakelly,
Donald Byrd,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Girls At Our Best!,
Tubeway Army,
Donny Hathaway,
Sun City Girls,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Black Bananas,
The Last Poets,
Severed Heads,
Roger Hodgson,
Sugar Minott,
Minnie Riperton,
Bronski Beat,
Urselle,
Nils Olav,
The Residents,
Funky Four + One,
Warren Ellis,
Theoretical Girls,
Vainqueur,
Cal Tjader,
Negative Approach,
The United States of America,
The Fortunes,
The Monks,
Al Stewart,
Gregory Isaacs,
Kerri Chandler,
Derrick Morgan,
La Düsseldorf,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Swans, Swans, Swans, Swans.
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.