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 Kazakhstan and from Delhi.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 A Flock of Seagulls to the dance 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 Notorious Big And Bone Thugs. All the underground hits.
All Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every B.T. Express record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 808 and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jacques Brel record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kayak,
Letta Mbulu,
David Bowie,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Visage,
Young Marble Giants,
John Coltrane,
Shoche,
The Sonics,
Rekid,
Average White Band,
Moebius,
Moby Grape,
Alphaville,
This Heat,
Fad Gadget,
Sex Pistols,
Godley & Creme,
EPMD,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Carl Craig,
Motorama,
T.S.O.L.,
Tears for Fears,
Bauhaus,
Radiopuhelimet,
48th St. Collective,
The Stooges,
Rosa Yemen,
Soft Cell,
DJ Sneak,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Cure,
Lindisfarne,
Pantytec,
Minutemen,
Los Fastidios,
Tubeway Army,
Massinfluence,
Slick Rick,
The Golliwogs,
Brothers Johnson,
Skriet,
John Holt,
Radiohead,
Excepter,
Underground Resistance,
Piero Umiliani,
Throbbing Gristle,
Amon Düül,
8 Eyed Spy,
Alison Limerick,
Babytalk,
The Divine Comedy,
Marine Girls,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Colin Newman,
The Human League,
The Blues Magoos,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Kurtis Blow,
Hot Snakes,
Pharoah Sanders,
Derrick May,
Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones.
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.