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 Indonesia and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog to the dance 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 Seeds. All the underground hits.
All Nas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sly & The Family Stone 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 spring reverb and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Hutcherson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
E-Dancer,
Pulsallama,
Ohio Players,
Chris Corsano,
Hot Snakes,
Minutemen,
Adolescents,
Stetsasonic,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Radio Birdman,
Bobby Sherman,
Simply Red,
Sun Ra,
Donny Hathaway,
the Swans,
The Pretty Things,
The Index,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
A Certain Ratio,
Peter and Kerry,
Judy Mowatt,
The Last Poets,
Fugazi,
Organ,
MC5,
The Misunderstood,
Rites of Spring,
Tropical Tobacco,
Pantytec,
Gastr Del Sol,
Rhythm & Sound,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Brass Construction,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Sugar Minott,
Youth Brigade,
Susan Cadogan,
Symarip,
Little Man,
Echospace,
Silicon Teens,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Steve Hackett,
Niagra,
Dead Boys,
Chrome,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Oneida,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Livin' Joy,
The Pop Group,
Sunsets and Hearts,
the Germs,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
T.S.O.L.,
Fad Gadget,
Charles Mingus,
Gang Starr,
Black Pus,
Barbara Tucker,
Eli Mardock, Eli Mardock, Eli Mardock, Eli Mardock.
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.