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 Brazil and from Stockholm.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 marimba 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 Angels of Light & Akron/Family to the funk 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 Visage. All the underground hits.
All One Last Wish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Five Americans 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dirtbombs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Slave,
Gastr Del Sol,
Bang On A Can,
The Invisible,
Piero Umiliani,
Pantytec,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Barrington Levy,
The Misunderstood,
Livin' Joy,
Visage,
The Young Rascals,
Don Cherry,
The Searchers,
Siglo XX,
Hashim,
Pere Ubu,
Mary Jane Girls,
Grey Daturas,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Remains,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Reuben Wilson,
Toni Rubio,
Deadbeat,
Scrapy,
Juan Atkins,
James White and The Blacks,
The Selecter,
Freddie Wadling,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Shadows of Knight,
Lalann,
Amazonics,
Yellowson,
CMW,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Curtis Mayfield,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Fuzztones,
Pantaleimon,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Ronnie Foster,
Rod Modell,
Godley & Creme,
New York Dolls,
Tim Buckley,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Cosmic Jokers,
World's Most,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Fad Gadget,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Basic Channel,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Panda Bear,
Pet Shop Boys,
Sunsets and Hearts,
John Foxx,
Essential Logic,
the Fania All-Stars, the Fania All-Stars, the Fania All-Stars, the Fania All-Stars.
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.