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 Jamaica and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
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 Stereo Dub 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 Crash Course in Science. All the underground hits.
All Simply Red tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Selecter 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fat Boys,
Crash Course in Science,
The Barracudas,
Zero Boys,
Sex Pistols,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Tremeloes,
Joe Finger,
The Count Five,
Symarip,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Tom Boy,
the Slits,
The Velvet Underground,
The Smoke,
Slick Rick,
Clear Light,
Khruangbin,
Jimmy McGriff,
U.S. Maple,
Al Stewart,
The Red Krayola,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Glambeats Corp.,
Rhythm & Sound,
X-102,
Barry Ungar,
The Music Machine,
Pole,
Barbara Tucker,
Camberwell Now,
PIL,
Accadde A,
Minutemen,
The Walker Brothers,
Talk Talk,
Brand Nubian,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Oneida,
Stereo Dub,
Laurel Aitken,
Dorothy Ashby,
Magazine,
Half Japanese,
Vainqueur,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Glenn Branca,
Toni Rubio,
Pet Shop Boys,
Maleditus Sound,
The Gun Club,
Ten City,
World's Most,
John Cale,
Los Fastidios,
the Human League,
Delon & Dalcan,
Yusef Lateef,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Ken Boothe,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Subhumans,
Sällskapet,
Zapp, Zapp, Zapp, Zapp.
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.