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 Romania and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 oboe 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 Desert Stars to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Gang Gang Dance. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Mojo Men record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Red Lorry Yellow Lorry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
John Holt,
Crime,
Todd Rundgren,
Lou Christie,
Ralphi Rosario,
Magma,
Donald Byrd,
Jeff Mills,
Vladislav Delay,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Visage,
Desert Stars,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Monks,
Franke,
The Cure,
Robert Görl,
Eric Dolphy,
Marine Girls,
Mission of Burma,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Alphaville,
Inner City,
Chrome,
The Last Poets,
Surgeon,
Qualms,
Dennis Brown,
Brand Nubian,
The Five Americans,
Banda Bassotti,
The Doobie Brothers,
Quando Quango,
Babytalk,
The Skatalites,
Swans,
Kevin Saunderson,
Matthew Bourne,
The Toasters,
Man Eating Sloth,
Moby Grape,
Sight & Sound,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Isaac Hayes,
Rotary Connection,
The Offenders,
Cluster,
F. McDonald,
Hot Snakes,
Barbara Tucker,
Ultra Naté,
The Music Machine,
Yazoo,
Ken Boothe,
Curtis Mayfield,
Angry Samoans,
Don Cherry,
Parry Music,
Eli Mardock,
Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy.
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.