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 Algeria and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 spring reverb 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 Throbbing Gristle to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Alton Ellis. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Schoolly D record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lightning Bolt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T. Rex,
Hasil Adkins,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Television Personalities,
Moss Icon,
The Leaves,
Dark Day,
James White and The Blacks,
Section 25,
Howard Jones,
Blossom Toes,
Anthony Braxton,
Average White Band,
MDC,
Gong,
Nick Fraelich,
Scott Walker,
Soft Cell,
Soft Machine,
Cheater Slicks,
Alphaville,
Mark Hollis,
Brass Construction,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Nico,
Sam Rivers,
The Stooges,
Eric Dolphy,
Sex Pistols,
Joey Negro,
Brand Nubian,
The Detroit Cobras,
Clear Light,
Marvin Gaye,
Hot Snakes,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The J.B.'s,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Gichy Dan,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Marshall Jefferson,
Mr. Review,
Joe Smooth,
Jacques Brel,
The Index,
Sarah Menescal,
Jacob Miller,
Khruangbin,
Judy Mowatt,
New York Dolls,
The Pretty Things,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Colin Newman,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Grauzone,
The Zeros,
Cymande,
Glambeats Corp.,
Tropical Tobacco,
Technova,
Depeche Mode,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Pussy Galore,
Yaz, Yaz, Yaz, Yaz.
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.