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 Slovakia 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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Darondo to the grime kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 T. Rex. All the underground hits.
All John Cale tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bill Near 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Index record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Smoke,
Nik Kershaw,
Spoonie Gee,
Rufus Thomas,
T. Rex,
Joey Negro,
10cc,
Warsaw,
R.M.O.,
Albert Ayler,
The Fall,
Peter and Kerry,
Hot Snakes,
Flamin' Groovies,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Infiniti,
Black Sheep,
Magma,
UT,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Joy Division,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Pierre Henry,
KRS-One,
Theoretical Girls,
Boogie Down Productions,
Curtis Mayfield,
Country Teasers,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Tropical Tobacco,
Quadrant,
Soft Cell,
Heaven 17,
Slick Rick,
Man Eating Sloth,
Icehouse,
Reuben Wilson,
The Fuzztones,
Kurtis Blow,
Alice Coltrane,
Television,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Panda Bear,
Eddi Front,
Gabor Szabo,
Absolute Body Control,
Roger Hodgson,
Ultra Naté,
The Gladiators,
The Knickerbockers,
Moss Icon,
Robert Hood,
Circle Jerks,
Marmalade,
Rakim,
T.S.O.L.,
Mantronix,
Wings,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Minnie Riperton,
Jerry's Kids,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Can, Can, Can, Can.
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.