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 Palau and from Taipei.
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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Charles Mingus to the funk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Joey Negro. All the underground hits.
All Manfred Mann's Earth Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Young Marble Giants record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Boredoms record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Agent Orange,
Crispian St. Peters,
Angry Samoans,
the Human League,
Ultra Naté,
Metal Thangz,
Model 500,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Letta Mbulu,
Mo-Dettes,
Johnny Clarke,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Litter,
DJ Style,
Quando Quango,
The Busters,
Marc Almond,
Pet Shop Boys,
Arab on Radar,
The Trojans,
the Association,
Gong,
Black Pus,
Avey Tare,
Alison Limerick,
Man Eating Sloth,
Tears for Fears,
Desert Stars,
Stockholm Monsters,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Sixth Finger,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Faraquet,
Soul Sonic Force,
Rekid,
X-102,
Nico,
F. McDonald,
John Foxx,
Eric B and Rakim,
Infiniti,
Derrick Morgan,
Cymande,
Fear,
Brand Nubian,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Neon Judgement,
The Pretty Things,
Joe Smooth,
Eve St. Jones,
The Cramps,
Ten City,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Boredoms,
Massinfluence,
The J.B.'s,
Monks, Monks, Monks, Monks.
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.