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 Ireland and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 Nile Rodgers 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 D'Angelo to the funk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme. All the underground hits.
All Average White Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Pretty Things record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 spring reverb and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Shuggie Otis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
the Slits,
Reuben Wilson,
Guru Guru,
Harmonia,
Arthur Verocai,
Drexciya,
Stiv Bators,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Tres Demented,
The Searchers,
a-ha,
the Association,
Pantaleimon,
The Sound,
8 Eyed Spy,
Joyce Sims,
The Five Americans,
Siglo XX,
Ituana,
Supertramp,
The Skatalites,
Joensuu 1685,
Hot Snakes,
Accadde A,
The Cure,
Wolf Eyes,
Y Pants,
Magazine,
Dawn Penn,
Marvin Gaye,
Television,
Ponytail,
Shoche,
D'Angelo,
Mandrill,
Matthew Halsall,
Radiopuhelimet,
Television Personalities,
Sixth Finger,
Pole,
Echospace,
Surgeon,
Cymande,
Wire,
Kayak,
The Vogues,
The Dirtbombs,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Michelle Simonal,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Letta Mbulu,
Monolake,
Yellowson,
Crash Course in Science,
Cecil Taylor,
Visage,
the Normal, the Normal, the Normal, the Normal.
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.