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 Ethiopia and from Bologna.
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 Salvador and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Hasil Adkins to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Misunderstood. All the underground hits.
All Aaron Thompson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Last Poets record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gil Scott Heron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monolake,
The Flesh Eaters,
Scion,
The Smoke,
The Gories,
Suicide,
New Order,
The Fortunes,
The Remains,
Tommy Roe,
The Five Americans,
The Modern Lovers,
Gang Starr,
Jawbox,
Darondo,
Ponytail,
Ossler,
Franke,
DJ Style,
Chris Corsano,
Pantaleimon,
Mary Jane Girls,
Oblivians,
The Victims,
Radio Birdman,
Jacob Miller,
John Foxx,
Dawn Penn,
Y Pants,
the Normal,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Metal Thangz,
a-ha,
The Sonics,
Yusef Lateef,
Agent Orange,
Television,
Fugazi,
U.S. Maple,
Easy Going,
Gil Scott Heron,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Fire Engines,
Underground Resistance,
Tim Buckley,
Danielle Patucci,
Todd Terry,
Kas Product,
Unwound,
Con Funk Shun,
Eli Mardock,
Boogie Down Productions,
Lebanon Hanover,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Crispian St. Peters,
Skaos,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Frankie Knuckles,
Pole, Pole, Pole, Pole.
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.