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 Ukraine and from Hong Kong.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Suicide to the disco kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Black Bananas. All the underground hits.
All Flipper tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jerry Gold Smith record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 808 and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Maurizio record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Maleditus Sound,
China Crisis,
The Last Poets,
Nas,
Mandrill,
The Golliwogs,
Thee Headcoats,
John Coltrane,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Crooked Eye,
Ken Boothe,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Black Dice,
Underground Resistance,
The Martian,
Wolf Eyes,
Schoolly D,
Blake Baxter,
Fear,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Scratch Acid,
Amazonics,
Monks,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Zeros,
Groovy Waters,
Cheater Slicks,
Reagan Youth,
Brick,
Delta 5,
John Foxx,
The Real Kids,
Warsaw,
Jacques Brel,
Brothers Johnson,
Mr. Review,
Lalann,
Harry Pussy,
Sexual Harrassment,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Gories,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
D'Angelo,
Black Sheep,
Liliput,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Circle Jerks,
Vladislav Delay,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
B.T. Express,
Von Mondo,
Monolake,
Kerri Chandler,
Absolute Body Control,
The Velvet Underground,
EPMD,
Subhumans,
Max Romeo,
Roger Hodgson,
The Moleskins,
Don Cherry,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Nils Olav,
Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader.
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.