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 Argentina and from Edmonton.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Erykah Badu to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 John Foxx. All the underground hits.
All Boogie Down Productions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tim Buckley record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 marimba and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Throbbing Gristle record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sound,
Maleditus Sound,
Gichy Dan,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Quadrant,
Tres Demented,
Bill Near,
The United States of America,
Kenny Larkin,
Aswad,
One Last Wish,
Minny Pops,
Neu!,
Hot Snakes,
Girls At Our Best!,
Albert Ayler,
Archie Shepp,
The American Breed,
Monks,
Arab on Radar,
Bang On A Can,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Swell Maps,
Masters at Work,
Idris Muhammad,
Hashim,
Goldenarms,
Loose Ends,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Slits,
Siglo XX,
Max Romeo,
Unrelated Segments,
Rod Modell,
David Axelrod,
The Kinks,
Wasted Youth,
Joyce Sims,
Scrapy,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Henry Cow,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Tommy Roe,
Glambeats Corp.,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Standells,
The Golliwogs,
The Last Poets,
The Divine Comedy,
Intrusion,
Faust,
Rakim,
The Buckinghams,
Isaac Hayes,
June of 44,
The Fire Engines,
ABC,
Los Fastidios,
Grey Daturas,
Cymande,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Doobie Brothers,
New Age Steppers,
Ken Boothe,
Tim Buckley, Tim Buckley, Tim Buckley, Tim Buckley.
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.