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 Uruguay and from Tehran.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Sparks to the rap 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 Wally Richardson. All the underground hits.
All Major Organ And The Adding Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Blake Baxter record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wolf Eyes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Five Americans,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Walker Brothers,
Pet Shop Boys,
Kurtis Blow,
The Saints,
Robert Wyatt,
kango's stein massive,
U.S. Maple,
Dorothy Ashby,
Black Bananas,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Trojans,
Infiniti,
Harry Pussy,
Freddie Wadling,
Fatback Band,
Cameo,
The Neon Judgement,
Delta 5,
X-102,
The Sonics,
Ponytail,
Kayak,
Quantec,
Faust,
Hot Snakes,
Junior Murvin,
Y Pants,
Kerri Chandler,
The Smoke,
The Mojo Men,
Cecil Taylor,
Ronnie Foster,
The Barracudas,
The Beau Brummels,
Adolescents,
James White and The Blacks,
Subhumans,
Eve St. Jones,
Rufus Thomas,
The Birthday Party,
ABBA,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Stooges,
Massinfluence,
Technova,
Throbbing Gristle,
the Normal,
MDC,
Supertramp,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Marmalade,
Bill Wells,
The Busters,
Fluxion,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Rhythm & Sound,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Fuzztones,
Khruangbin, Khruangbin, Khruangbin, Khruangbin.
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.