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 Palau and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 sitar 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 Howard Jones to the punk 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 Teenage Jesus and the Jerks. All the underground hits.
All The Neon Judgement tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sonic Youth 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Altered Images,
The Tremeloes,
Tommy Roe,
Scrapy,
Harry Pussy,
Jeff Mills,
Nick Fraelich,
The Gladiators,
the Bar-Kays,
The Leaves,
Inner City,
Outsiders,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Kaleidoscope,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Loose Ends,
Skriet,
Suburban Knight,
Wire,
Parry Music,
Japan,
Brick,
Malaria!,
The Moody Blues,
Pussy Galore,
World's Most,
Black Bananas,
Jesper Dahlback,
Terrestrial Tones,
the Normal,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Stetsasonic,
Dave Gahan,
These Immortal Souls,
Robert Wyatt,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Sun City Girls,
Rekid,
Kenny Larkin,
The Wake,
Todd Terry,
The Buckinghams,
Negative Approach,
Matthew Halsall,
Eric B and Rakim,
Main Source,
Eli Mardock,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Monks,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Angels of Light,
Howard Jones,
Idris Muhammad,
Neu!,
Bang On A Can,
Los Fastidios,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Rufus Thomas,
Royal Trux,
Animal Collective,
The Grass Roots, The Grass Roots, The Grass Roots, The Grass Roots.
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.