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 Belize and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 Robert Palmer 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 H. Thieme to the funk 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 Fear. All the underground hits.
All Tom Boy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pantytec record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Robert Wyatt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suicide,
Smog,
Yellowson,
Gabor Szabo,
Vladislav Delay,
The Dead C,
Danielle Patucci,
The Selecter,
Buzzcocks,
Wings,
Crime,
Electric Prunes,
Qualms,
Banda Bassotti,
Donny Hathaway,
Jeru the Damaja,
Kayak,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Detroit Cobras,
Joyce Sims,
Wasted Youth,
David McCallum,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Sun Ra,
Kurtis Blow,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
UT,
Subhumans,
Lower 48,
John Foxx,
The Fugs,
Fear,
Swell Maps,
Crash Course in Science,
Theoretical Girls,
The Walker Brothers,
Gerry Rafferty,
Fad Gadget,
The Sonics,
Rhythm & Sound,
Lindisfarne,
Toni Rubio,
Sonny Sharrock,
Infiniti,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
F. McDonald,
Pussy Galore,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Flamin' Groovies,
Deakin,
The Victims,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Quando Quango,
Ice-T,
The Barracudas,
Mantronix,
Talk Talk,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Suburban Knight,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills.
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.