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 Azerbaijan 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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 sitar 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 Jacob Miller to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon. All the underground hits.
All The Mummies tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Detroit Cobras record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Soft Machine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Crispy Ambulance,
Ken Boothe,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Black Flag,
The Dead C,
The Cramps,
Cluster,
The Searchers,
Motorama,
Cal Tjader,
The Shadows of Knight,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Donald Byrd,
The Gladiators,
Thompson Twins,
Chris & Cosey,
Big Daddy Kane,
Sonny Sharrock,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Television,
Pussy Galore,
CMW,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Smog,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Traffic Nightmare,
JFA,
Godley & Creme,
LL Cool J,
Zapp,
Slick Rick,
Crime,
Cameo,
MDC,
Liliput,
Steve Hackett,
B.T. Express,
Agent Orange,
Niagra,
The Martian,
Nick Fraelich,
Sexual Harrassment,
Crash Course in Science,
ABBA,
Funkadelic,
Bobby Byrd,
John Cale,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Bobby Sherman,
The Sisters of Mercy,
R.M.O.,
Sex Pistols,
Frankie Knuckles,
Panda Bear,
Interpol,
Wolf Eyes,
Juan Atkins,
Adolescents,
the Normal,
The Index,
Neil Young, Neil Young, Neil Young, Neil Young.
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.