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 Grenada and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Lonnie Liston Smith 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 The Moody Blues. All the underground hits.
All Boogie Down Productions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Clear Light record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Zero Boys,
Nick Fraelich,
Malaria!,
Sparks,
The Fall,
48th St. Collective,
Reagan Youth,
Ronnie Foster,
Al Stewart,
the Sonics,
Magma,
Brass Construction,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
World's Most,
Quando Quango,
Jerry's Kids,
Swans,
The Techniques,
Tubeway Army,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Hot Snakes,
Quadrant,
Glenn Branca,
The Electric Prunes,
Crash Course in Science,
John Coltrane,
Colin Newman,
Tomorrow,
Lungfish,
The Seeds,
Eurythmics,
the Soft Cell,
Radiopuhelimet,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Erykah Badu,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Amon Düül,
Rosa Yemen,
Oblivians,
a-ha,
DJ Style,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Stooges,
Chris Corsano,
Minny Pops,
The Toasters,
Negative Approach,
Matthew Halsall,
Warsaw,
Ultimate Spinach,
Harry Pussy,
Rufus Thomas,
Nils Olav,
Bush Tetras,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Dawn Penn,
Alice Coltrane,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Traffic Nightmare,
Aural Exciters,
Curtis Mayfield,
Q and Not U,
Accadde A, Accadde A, Accadde A, Accadde A.
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.