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 Kazakhstan and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Copenhagen.
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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 T.S.O.L. to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Bauhaus tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rites of Spring record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stockholm Monsters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Electric Prunes,
Roxy Music,
Tim Buckley,
Donald Byrd,
Dorothy Ashby,
KRS-One,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Fugazi,
Lyres,
Eric B and Rakim,
Pere Ubu,
Janne Schatter,
The Smoke,
The Divine Comedy,
Glambeats Corp.,
U.S. Maple,
Nick Fraelich,
Nirvana,
Royal Trux,
Country Teasers,
Guru Guru,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Victims,
Gil Scott Heron,
Scion,
Archie Shepp,
Steve Hackett,
Scan 7,
Skaos,
Eli Mardock,
Dark Day,
Iggy Pop,
Agitation Free,
Dennis Brown,
Camouflage,
Arab on Radar,
Cecil Taylor,
Morten Harket,
Althea and Donna,
Rekid,
48th St. Collective,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Angry Samoans,
The Modern Lovers,
Easy Going,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Black Pus,
The Slackers,
Toni Rubio,
The Techniques,
The Sonics,
The Barracudas,
Bobbi Humphrey,
CMW,
Alphaville,
Marine Girls,
Ronan,
Avey Tare,
Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson.
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.