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 St Lucia and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 snare 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 Crispy Ambulance to the rap kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Be Bop Deluxe. All the underground hits.
All The Gladiators tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Raincoats record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 an arpeggiator and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kerri Chandler record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sparks,
Crooked Eye,
The Blues Magoos,
Severed Heads,
The Fugs,
Alison Limerick,
the Association,
Symarip,
Jacques Brel,
The Doors,
The Raincoats,
The Move,
The Alarm Clocks,
Buzzcocks,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Eric B and Rakim,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Flipper,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Agitation Free,
Deakin,
Maleditus Sound,
Hasil Adkins,
Bluetip,
Girls At Our Best!,
Pussy Galore,
Byron Stingily,
Mo-Dettes,
Harry Pussy,
Colin Newman,
The New Christs,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Saints,
Marcia Griffiths,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Main Source,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Golliwogs,
Albert Ayler,
John Lydon,
Bang On A Can,
Letta Mbulu,
Jimmy McGriff,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
World's Most,
Lightning Bolt,
Roxette,
ABC,
Kayak,
DNA,
Faraquet,
June Days,
Pierre Henry,
New Age Steppers,
Boz Scaggs,
The Beau Brummels,
Kool Moe Dee,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Clear Light,
Public Image Ltd.,
Aural Exciters,
Aloha Tigers,
8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy.
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.