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 Kosovo 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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Average White Band to the electroclash kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Fortunes. All the underground hits.
All Derrick May tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every X-Ray Spex 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Bananas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Red Krayola,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Pet Shop Boys,
Angry Samoans,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Surgeon,
CMW,
Cybotron,
The Martian,
Lalann,
Yellowson,
Connie Case,
Ossler,
The Index,
Soul Sonic Force,
Jesper Dahlback,
Mo-Dettes,
Robert Hood,
Lower 48,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Sixth Finger,
Suburban Knight,
The Slits,
The Electric Prunes,
Ronan,
Godley & Creme,
Goldenarms,
Donald Byrd,
Blancmange,
Anakelly,
Y Pants,
The Names,
Kerrie Biddell,
Interpol,
Ten City,
Subhumans,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Last Poets,
The Barracudas,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Busters,
Mars,
Rapeman,
The Monks,
The Count Five,
The Skatalites,
Minor Threat,
Idris Muhammad,
Roxy Music,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Matthew Halsall,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Talk Talk,
Alton Ellis,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Letta Mbulu,
Brick,
Moebius,
Dorothy Ashby,
Supertramp,
Robert Wyatt,
China Crisis,
Yusef Lateef,
Pussy Galore,
ABC, ABC, ABC, ABC.
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.