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 Mali and from Manila.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan to the crunk 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 Bootsy Collins. All the underground hits.
All Eric Dolphy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scott Walker + Sunn O))) record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Traffic Nightmare record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Thompson Twins,
Heaven 17,
Brothers Johnson,
The Five Americans,
Severed Heads,
Faraquet,
The Dead C,
Kool Moe Dee,
Symarip,
Alphaville,
Magma,
Black Pus,
Godley & Creme,
Henry Cow,
Laurel Aitken,
Rod Modell,
Thee Headcoats,
Scientists,
Accadde A,
Pet Shop Boys,
Das Ding,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Gregory Isaacs,
Kenny Larkin,
Minor Threat,
Graham Central Station,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Sexual Harrassment,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Index,
Section 25,
Monks,
Rosa Yemen,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Ronnie Foster,
The Gladiators,
Chris & Cosey,
Excepter,
the Human League,
Max Romeo,
Anthony Braxton,
The Residents,
Cameo,
The Monks,
Kerrie Biddell,
Moebius,
The Electric Prunes,
Bizarre Inc.,
Derrick May,
F. McDonald,
Soft Machine,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Lalo Schifrin,
Pussy Galore,
The Leaves,
Matthew Halsall,
Second Layer,
Crime,
Minutemen,
Maurizio,
Rapeman,
Cluster,
Toni Rubio, Toni Rubio, Toni Rubio, Toni Rubio.
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.