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 Brazil and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Freddie Wadling to the rap 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 Letta Mbulu. All the underground hits.
All Fort Wilson Riot tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Star Department record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 spring reverb and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Amon Düül II record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Simply Red,
Heaven 17,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Underground Resistance,
Metal Thangz,
Sällskapet,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Gil Scott Heron,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Jesper Dahlback,
T.S.O.L.,
Archie Shepp,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Stiv Bators,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Harmonia,
Dual Sessions,
JFA,
Severed Heads,
The United States of America,
Sun City Girls,
Big Daddy Kane,
Adolescents,
The Gun Club,
Danielle Patucci,
Patti Smith,
Fatback Band,
Nils Olav,
Black Flag,
Lakeside,
Sex Pistols,
Ten City,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Lou Christie,
Tubeway Army,
The Invisible,
ABBA,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
The Residents,
Altered Images,
Dave Gahan,
The Red Krayola,
Agitation Free,
Visage,
Main Source,
Hashim,
Toni Rubio,
The Star Department,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Bronski Beat,
Quando Quango,
Kas Product,
Mad Mike,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Mojo Men,
Black Bananas,
The Dave Clark Five,
Fluxion,
Mars,
Swell Maps, Swell Maps, Swell Maps, Swell Maps.
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.