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 London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 oboe 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 Kool G Rap & DJ Polo to the funk 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 Terrestrial Tones. All the underground hits.
All Carl Craig tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Qualms record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Blancmange record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sister Nancy,
the Germs,
Carl Craig,
Ohio Players,
Inner City,
The Residents,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Music Machine,
Lightning Bolt,
The United States of America,
Suburban Knight,
Groovy Waters,
Matthew Halsall,
Scientists,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
London Community Gospel Choir,
KRS-One,
La Düsseldorf,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Silicon Teens,
The Litter,
Wolf Eyes,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Schoolly D,
Ultimate Spinach,
Aural Exciters,
Byron Stingily,
K-Klass,
Newcleus,
The Standells,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Skaos,
Bobby Sherman,
Marvin Gaye,
DJ Sneak,
Hardrive,
Mission of Burma,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Lakeside,
The Vogues,
Wings,
Jerry's Kids,
Scion,
Gong,
Stetsasonic,
Jeff Mills,
The Monochrome Set,
Y Pants,
The Star Department,
Lindisfarne,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Aaron Thompson,
Desert Stars,
Chrome,
Fat Boys,
X-Ray Spex,
Bluetip,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Sällskapet,
Graham Central Station,
Connie Case,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Skriet, Skriet, Skriet, Skriet.
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.