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 Croatia and from Hong Kong.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the oboe 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 Throbbing Gristle to the grime kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 The Sonics. All the underground hits.
All James White and The Blacks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Flipper record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rakim,
Infiniti,
The Evens,
Radio Birdman,
10cc,
Graham Central Station,
Newcleus,
Lucky Dragons,
Neil Young,
Tropical Tobacco,
Boogie Down Productions,
Schoolly D,
T. Rex,
Nation of Ulysses,
Subhumans,
KRS-One,
The Walker Brothers,
Jeff Mills,
Johnny Osbourne,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Real Kids,
Dawn Penn,
Magma,
The Dead C,
The Invisible,
Half Japanese,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Dark Day,
Sällskapet,
Sandy B,
Spandau Ballet,
Davy DMX,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Juan Atkins,
The Pop Group,
Pantaleimon,
The Mummies,
Sonny Sharrock,
Faust,
David McCallum,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Can,
Tomorrow,
Piero Umiliani,
The Names,
Buzzcocks,
Marcia Griffiths,
Guru Guru,
Joe Smooth,
Rapeman,
These Immortal Souls,
Kerri Chandler,
Eli Mardock,
Aswad,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Howard Jones,
the Slits,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Idris Muhammad,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes.
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.