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 Mongolia and from Delhi.
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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Throbbing Gristle to the crunk 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 Alison Limerick. All the underground hits.
All Can tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lightning Bolt record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tres Demented record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Soft Cell,
Marcia Griffiths,
48th St. Collective,
Lee Hazlewood,
Kayak,
ABC,
Roxette,
Magma,
Boz Scaggs,
Symarip,
Underground Resistance,
T.S.O.L.,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Colin Newman,
Funkadelic,
the Slits,
New York Dolls,
Simply Red,
Nick Fraelich,
The United States of America,
Glambeats Corp.,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Section 25,
Rites of Spring,
Moby Grape,
Stereo Dub,
Circle Jerks,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Make Up,
The Doobie Brothers,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Last Poets,
Terry Callier,
Accadde A,
Ronnie Foster,
Altered Images,
The Mojo Men,
Public Enemy,
Neil Young,
Sugar Minott,
Derrick May,
Visage,
The Toasters,
Pulsallama,
Traffic Nightmare,
Tim Buckley,
Kas Product,
The Grass Roots,
Sonic Youth,
B.T. Express,
The Velvet Underground,
Darondo,
Delta 5,
Al Stewart,
The Mummies,
Ponytail,
Saccharine Trust,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
A Certain Ratio,
Trumans Water,
Wolf Eyes,
The Saints, The Saints, The Saints, The Saints.
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.