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 Samoa and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 harpsichord 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 Inner City to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All Lucky Dragons tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Main Source record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 an oboe and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Sherman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sonics,
Sexual Harrassment,
Joyce Sims,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Suburban Knight,
Todd Rundgren,
Public Image Ltd.,
Camberwell Now,
a-ha,
June Days,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
T. Rex,
New Age Steppers,
The Smoke,
Bauhaus,
June of 44,
Peter & Gordon,
Sister Nancy,
Agent Orange,
DJ Style,
The Searchers,
Jeru the Damaja,
E-Dancer,
Stetsasonic,
Jerry's Kids,
Smog,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Little Man,
New York Dolls,
Sun Ra,
Idris Muhammad,
the Soft Cell,
Yusef Lateef,
The J.B.'s,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
the Fania All-Stars,
Absolute Body Control,
Slave,
Pet Shop Boys,
Mr. Review,
Lou Reed,
Accadde A,
Charles Mingus,
The Young Rascals,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Fluxion,
Marmalade,
Aloha Tigers,
Brass Construction,
Lungfish,
Gang Starr,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Crash Course in Science,
In Retrospect,
Bill Near,
Pussy Galore,
Ultra Naté,
Mad Mike,
Eric Copeland,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
John Lydon,
Duran Duran, Duran Duran, Duran Duran, Duran Duran.
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.