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 Kenya and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Quando Quango to the jazz 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 Bobby Womack. All the underground hits.
All The Beau Brummels tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispian St. Peters 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mad Mike,
Yellowson,
Soulsonic Force,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Spoonie Gee,
Sex Pistols,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Lakeside,
Unwound,
The Fall,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
T. Rex,
Harry Pussy,
Lalann,
Kool Moe Dee,
Infiniti,
Sun Ra,
Qualms,
The Electric Prunes,
Animal Collective,
Bauhaus,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Tim Buckley,
Bluetip,
The Invisible,
D'Angelo,
Pylon,
Wasted Youth,
Kas Product,
The Searchers,
Ultimate Spinach,
Howard Jones,
Derrick May,
Lou Reed,
L. Decosne,
Suicide,
Popol Vuh,
Gang Starr,
MC5,
The Dead C,
Y Pants,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Neu!,
The Grass Roots,
Banda Bassotti,
the Human League,
The Mummies,
Graham Central Station,
The Velvet Underground,
Bootsy Collins,
The Smiths,
June Days,
Arcadia,
Basic Channel,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
New York Dolls,
Ludus,
Terrestrial Tones,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Urselle,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Ohio Players, Ohio Players, Ohio Players, Ohio Players.
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.