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 Somalia and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Interpol to the crunk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Silicon Teens. All the underground hits.
All Eric B and Rakim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Man Parrish 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Major Organ And The Adding Machine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suicide,
Steve Hackett,
The Music Machine,
Davy DMX,
Lou Christie,
Jacob Miller,
Charles Mingus,
Alton Ellis,
Michelle Simonal,
The Busters,
The Gladiators,
Moby Grape,
Erykah Badu,
Royal Trux,
Shuggie Otis,
Throbbing Gristle,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Rapeman,
Eddi Front,
Sex Pistols,
Moebius,
Nas,
Model 500,
Arab on Radar,
Sexual Harrassment,
Tres Demented,
Soft Machine,
The Names,
The Searchers,
Marmalade,
The Residents,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Litter,
B.T. Express,
Godley & Creme,
Infiniti,
Spandau Ballet,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Susan Cadogan,
Q and Not U,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The United States of America,
K-Klass,
U.S. Maple,
Lee Hazlewood,
Jandek,
Pierre Henry,
Agitation Free,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Jacques Brel,
Sister Nancy,
The Skatalites,
Bobby Womack,
Maurizio,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
D'Angelo,
Organ,
Spoonie Gee,
The Evens,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Section 25,
The Doors,
The Happenings, The Happenings, The Happenings, The Happenings.
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.