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 Belgium and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Dirtbombs to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Urselle. All the underground hits.
All Symarip tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Terry Callier record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kevin Saunderson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ponytail,
Sight & Sound,
The Alarm Clocks,
Scratch Acid,
Bob Dylan,
The Stooges,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Tubeway Army,
Eli Mardock,
Jacques Brel,
H. Thieme,
Harry Pussy,
Pylon,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Gun Club,
Jawbox,
The Red Krayola,
The Cure,
Los Fastidios,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Neon Judgement,
Throbbing Gristle,
T. Rex,
The Young Rascals,
Subhumans,
the Bar-Kays,
DJ Sneak,
John Holt,
The Slits,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Suburban Knight,
Erykah Badu,
Sister Nancy,
Cecil Taylor,
The Gap Band,
Barclay James Harvest,
Yaz,
The Shadows of Knight,
Kerri Chandler,
Blancmange,
Brothers Johnson,
Kaleidoscope,
A Certain Ratio,
Pet Shop Boys,
Anakelly,
Crispy Ambulance,
The J.B.'s,
Soul Sonic Force,
Alison Limerick,
The Dead C,
Q65,
Joe Finger,
The Gories,
The Monks,
Spoonie Gee,
Thompson Twins,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Radiopuhelimet,
Bootsy Collins,
Aural Exciters,
Supertramp,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Count Five,
Laurel Aitken, Laurel Aitken, Laurel Aitken, Laurel Aitken.
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.