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 Gambia and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 Hong Kong and Johannesburg.
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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Kool G Rap & DJ Polo to the techno kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Ash Ra Tempel. All the underground hits.
All John Cale tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Certain Ratio 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Martian record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
China Crisis,
Scrapy,
Matthew Bourne,
Grey Daturas,
Visage,
Audionom,
Pulsallama,
Frankie Knuckles,
Gang Green,
Byron Stingily,
The Music Machine,
The Index,
Nick Fraelich,
The Leaves,
Pylon,
Wally Richardson,
Dennis Brown,
Japan,
Donald Byrd,
The Monks,
Isaac Hayes,
The Martian,
Drexciya,
Spoonie Gee,
The American Breed,
Hot Snakes,
Archie Shepp,
Cymande,
The Five Americans,
David Axelrod,
Boz Scaggs,
The Dirtbombs,
Darondo,
Alphaville,
Black Moon,
Deepchord,
Bobby Sherman,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Sound,
Nico,
Juan Atkins,
Bang On A Can,
The Barracudas,
Eddi Front,
Gerry Rafferty,
Minutemen,
Gil Scott Heron,
Warsaw,
Minor Threat,
Moebius,
Bluetip,
Sugar Minott,
Gregory Isaacs,
Roy Ayers,
Ossler,
This Heat,
Silicon Teens,
Harry Pussy,
Brass Construction,
Sonic Youth,
La Düsseldorf,
Pole, Pole, Pole, Pole.
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.