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 Namibia 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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 theremin 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 This Heat to the dance 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 the Soft Cell. All the underground hits.
All Throbbing Gristle tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Blancmange 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Little Man record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Byron Stingily,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Laurel Aitken,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Scrapy,
The Invisible,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
The Detroit Cobras,
Mantronix,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Fad Gadget,
Yazoo,
Gil Scott Heron,
Supertramp,
China Crisis,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Golliwogs,
Sparks,
Cybotron,
The Cramps,
Arab on Radar,
Henry Cow,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Brick,
David Bowie,
Franke,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Knickerbockers,
Gang Starr,
the Swans,
The Black Dice,
Yusef Lateef,
Scientists,
DNA,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Human League,
Lebanon Hanover,
Judy Mowatt,
Half Japanese,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Mandrill,
the Sonics,
Q65,
Colin Newman,
Buzzcocks,
Janne Schatter,
Silicon Teens,
Ken Boothe,
Unwound,
The Alarm Clocks,
Aswad,
F. McDonald,
Audionom,
Outsiders,
The Angels of Light,
The Index,
Maurizio,
Crime,
Spoonie Gee,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Jesus and Mary Chain.
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.