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 Eritrea and from Milan.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Fatback Band to the electroclash 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 ABBA. All the underground hits.
All Unwound tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every H. Thieme 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rites of Spring record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marmalade,
Bluetip,
Scott Walker,
The Victims,
Sight & Sound,
Leonard Cohen,
Swans,
Chris & Cosey,
Stetsasonic,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Organ,
Brass Construction,
Depeche Mode,
John Cale,
Talk Talk,
Amon Düül,
CMW,
Sexual Harrassment,
Cybotron,
Charles Mingus,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Chrome,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Donald Byrd,
These Immortal Souls,
The Monks,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Lou Reed,
Blancmange,
Eurythmics,
Make Up,
The Fall,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Dirtbombs,
The Fire Engines,
Pere Ubu,
Shoche,
Fad Gadget,
Anakelly,
Dave Gahan,
Monolake,
June Days,
F. McDonald,
ABBA,
The Five Americans,
Byron Stingily,
Big Daddy Kane,
Peter & Gordon,
Public Enemy,
Eve St. Jones,
Brothers Johnson,
Aural Exciters,
Davy DMX,
Gang Gang Dance,
This Heat,
Man Parrish,
Mad Mike,
Severed Heads,
The Music Machine,
Yaz, Yaz, Yaz, Yaz.
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.