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 Malawi and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Alarm Clocks to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Blues Magoos. All the underground hits.
All Hasil Adkins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Misunderstood 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cameo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fat Boys,
Steve Hackett,
Bauhaus,
The Residents,
The Doobie Brothers,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Goldenarms,
Das Ding,
Masters at Work,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Y Pants,
Amon Düül,
The Young Rascals,
Hoover,
The Durutti Column,
Bush Tetras,
Lalann,
F. McDonald,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Lightning Bolt,
Ponytail,
Gang Starr,
The Five Americans,
Mr. Review,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Roxette,
Colin Newman,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Outsiders,
Josef K,
The Monochrome Set,
The Happenings,
T. Rex,
Pagans,
The Alarm Clocks,
Neil Young,
Johnny Osbourne,
Tom Boy,
John Cale,
Kas Product,
Robert Hood,
Aswad,
Yazoo,
Sarah Menescal,
Sound Behaviour,
Fela Kuti,
Clear Light,
Piero Umiliani,
Ten City,
The Gories,
H. Thieme,
The Flesh Eaters,
Tim Buckley,
Spoonie Gee,
Yellowson,
The Fugs,
The Techniques,
June Days,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Motions,
Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone.
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.