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 Mauritania and from Johannesburg.
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 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ 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 Selector Dub Narcotic to the dance kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Searchers. All the underground hits.
All Supertramp 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 funk 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 an oboe and a 808 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 güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Skriet,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Monks,
Bush Tetras,
Black Bananas,
Man Eating Sloth,
Toni Rubio,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Saccharine Trust,
Radio Birdman,
Groovy Waters,
Smog,
John Foxx,
Peter and Kerry,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Barry Ungar,
The Black Dice,
Skarface,
Graham Central Station,
Fat Boys,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Spoonie Gee,
Harry Pussy,
Tim Buckley,
Gang of Four,
Rosa Yemen,
Lee Hazlewood,
Stockholm Monsters,
AZ,
Yaz,
Kerrie Biddell,
Sam Rivers,
The Seeds,
Maleditus Sound,
The J.B.'s,
Rod Modell,
Altered Images,
Kayak,
The Real Kids,
The Busters,
Mo-Dettes,
The Beau Brummels,
The Fuzztones,
Arcadia,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Bauhaus,
The Gladiators,
Joy Division,
Pantaleimon,
Marc Almond,
Amazonics,
Tres Demented,
Gabor Szabo,
Suburban Knight,
Alice Coltrane,
Matthew Halsall,
Animal Collective,
a-ha,
Boz Scaggs,
Zapp,
Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion.
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.