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 Norway and from Spokane.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Jawbox to the techno kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Eric Copeland. All the underground hits.
All Index tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Archie Shepp record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Inner City record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scrapy,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Isaac Hayes,
Aural Exciters,
The Residents,
Al Stewart,
Thompson Twins,
Deakin,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Moleskins,
The Wake,
The Beau Brummels,
the Fania All-Stars,
Slave,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Martian,
The Cowsills,
The Mojo Men,
Tubeway Army,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Marc Almond,
Chris & Cosey,
Ituana,
Yellowson,
Massinfluence,
Fat Boys,
The Dead C,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Ohio Players,
Scratch Acid,
Interpol,
F. McDonald,
Bootsy Collins,
CMW,
Eric B and Rakim,
Trumans Water,
John Foxx,
The Last Poets,
T.S.O.L.,
Tears for Fears,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Black Sheep,
X-102,
Blake Baxter,
Howard Jones,
Pussy Galore,
The Electric Prunes,
Stiv Bators,
E-Dancer,
Gang of Four,
DJ Style,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Country Teasers,
Mantronix,
Quadrant,
Royal Trux,
Iggy Pop,
Robert Görl,
Terrestrial Tones,
Mandrill,
Robert Hood, Robert Hood, Robert Hood, Robert Hood.
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.