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 San Marino and from Madrid.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Derrick Morgan to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Chris & Cosey. All the underground hits.
All These Immortal Souls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Monks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eve St. Jones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Hoover,
Mars,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Technova,
Camberwell Now,
Angry Samoans,
Procol Harum,
The Move,
The Stooges,
Smog,
Stetsasonic,
The Electric Prunes,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Little Man,
Absolute Body Control,
Max Romeo,
Minnie Riperton,
Kerrie Biddell,
Colin Newman,
Rakim,
Franke,
Boz Scaggs,
Sugar Minott,
Arcadia,
Flipper,
Jimmy McGriff,
AZ,
The Smiths,
Bobby Byrd,
Barrington Levy,
Byron Stingily,
Bobby Sherman,
The Young Rascals,
Cymande,
Radio Birdman,
Radiohead,
Rod Modell,
Dead Boys,
The Saints,
Barry Ungar,
Ultra Naté,
Lucky Dragons,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Fuzztones,
Skarface,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
U.S. Maple,
Boredoms,
Kerri Chandler,
Roger Hodgson,
The Pop Group,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Marcia Griffiths,
Ronan,
The Buckinghams,
Ornette Coleman,
The Selecter,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Mary Jane Girls, Mary Jane Girls, Mary Jane Girls, Mary Jane Girls.
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.