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 Honduras and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Half Japanese to the grime 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 Danielle Patucci. All the underground hits.
All Lonnie Liston Smith tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dave Gahan 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 spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Alarm Clocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Hoover,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Agent Orange,
Marmalade,
Cal Tjader,
Schoolly D,
Swans,
Leonard Cohen,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Brand Nubian,
Rakim,
Nils Olav,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Index,
Faust,
Tom Boy,
Unwound,
The Dave Clark Five,
the Germs,
Al Stewart,
E-Dancer,
Avey Tare,
Gabor Szabo,
Idris Muhammad,
The Associates,
Mars,
Buzzcocks,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Henry Cow,
Harry Pussy,
Ten City,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Gladiators,
The Beau Brummels,
KRS-One,
FM Einheit,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Soulsonic Force,
ABBA,
Little Man,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Loose Ends,
The Index,
The Doors,
The Fire Engines,
Sight & Sound,
CMW,
Bluetip,
Icehouse,
The Offenders,
Glenn Branca,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
the Sonics,
DJ Sneak,
Heaven 17,
Hardrive,
Oneida,
Crime,
Franke, Franke, Franke, Franke.
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.