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 East Timor and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 theremin 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 The Pretty Things to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Q and Not U. All the underground hits.
All The Moleskins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Brick record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James Chance & The Contortions record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang Starr,
Maleditus Sound,
Skarface,
the Slits,
the Swans,
The Smiths,
Roxy Music,
Amazonics,
Echospace,
Boogie Down Productions,
Grauzone,
Mars,
Chrome,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Todd Rundgren,
T. Rex,
Wally Richardson,
Livin' Joy,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Can,
Wasted Youth,
Loose Ends,
Zero Boys,
Fad Gadget,
The Buckinghams,
Pere Ubu,
The Black Dice,
T.S.O.L.,
Charles Mingus,
Model 500,
John Lydon,
The Fortunes,
Basic Channel,
The Kinks,
Yusef Lateef,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Niagra,
Donald Byrd,
Kas Product,
Public Enemy,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Tubeway Army,
Sexual Harrassment,
Prince Buster,
Juan Atkins,
The Seeds,
Al Stewart,
Dawn Penn,
Sarah Menescal,
Q and Not U,
Royal Trux,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Sonic Youth,
L. Decosne,
Outsiders,
Buzzcocks,
The Doobie Brothers,
Electric Prunes, Electric Prunes, Electric Prunes, Electric Prunes.
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.