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 South Sudan and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 Donald Fagen 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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch to the grunge 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 Mad Mike. All the underground hits.
All Y Pants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Maleditus Sound record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jerry Gold Smith record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suburban Knight,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Prince Buster,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Roxette,
The Pop Group,
CMW,
Severed Heads,
The Dave Clark Five,
Tomorrow,
Ken Boothe,
The Sonics,
Traffic Nightmare,
Lakeside,
The Searchers,
Neil Young,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Tres Demented,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Vladislav Delay,
The United States of America,
Ponytail,
Dave Gahan,
Stetsasonic,
Minutemen,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Eric B and Rakim,
Marine Girls,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Dual Sessions,
Intrusion,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Kenny Larkin,
Darondo,
The Kinks,
Magazine,
Susan Cadogan,
Underground Resistance,
Pet Shop Boys,
Sight & Sound,
Jeff Lynne,
Robert Hood,
The J.B.'s,
Roy Ayers,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Barrington Levy,
The Mojo Men,
X-Ray Spex,
Lalo Schifrin,
Eurythmics,
Gang Starr,
DNA,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Das Ding,
Faraquet,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Carl Craig,
Lungfish,
Easy Going,
The Shadows of Knight,
Urselle,
Wasted Youth,
Crime, Crime, Crime, Crime.
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.