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 Madagascar and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 808 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 Vladislav Delay to the rap 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 Severed Heads. All the underground hits.
All Aural Exciters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ponytail record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 güiro and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Foxx record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Tremeloes,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Magazine,
Tubeway Army,
Todd Terry,
Danielle Patucci,
Electric Prunes,
In Retrospect,
Crash Course in Science,
Surgeon,
Sparks,
The Angels of Light,
New Age Steppers,
Minnie Riperton,
Altered Images,
Dark Day,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Maleditus Sound,
Crispian St. Peters,
cv313,
The Index,
Maurizio,
Nick Fraelich,
Gastr Del Sol,
Boogie Down Productions,
Funky Four + One,
June of 44,
Fad Gadget,
Soft Cell,
Buzzcocks,
ABBA,
Steve Hackett,
Public Image Ltd.,
Eric B and Rakim,
Avey Tare,
Kerri Chandler,
Judy Mowatt,
Albert Ayler,
the Normal,
Quadrant,
Mary Jane Girls,
Prince Buster,
Andrew Hill,
Yusef Lateef,
Erasure,
ABC,
The New Christs,
Lalo Schifrin,
Hoover,
Symarip,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Pop Group,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Alarm Clocks,
D'Angelo,
Pere Ubu,
AZ,
KRS-One,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Terry Callier,
Model 500, Model 500, Model 500, Model 500.
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.