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 Iran and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 linndrum 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 Man Eating Sloth to the jazz 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 Harry Pussy. All the underground hits.
All Charles Mingus tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every De La Soul & Jungle Brothers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lightning Bolt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Peter and Kerry,
The Motions,
Suicide,
The Doors,
Amazonics,
Lou Reed,
Nico,
Johnny Osbourne,
Sugar Minott,
John Coltrane,
DJ Sneak,
Lebanon Hanover,
The United States of America,
Peter & Gordon,
Supertramp,
The Blues Magoos,
Outsiders,
The Fuzztones,
the Normal,
Sound Behaviour,
Sex Pistols,
Young Marble Giants,
DNA,
Royal Trux,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Marc Almond,
Eurythmics,
The Dead C,
Pere Ubu,
Alice Coltrane,
Anthony Braxton,
Dead Boys,
Banda Bassotti,
Sonny Sharrock,
Joey Negro,
Harry Pussy,
Donny Hathaway,
Mantronix,
Monolake,
Unwound,
Desert Stars,
Brothers Johnson,
Talk Talk,
Robert Hood,
Susan Cadogan,
Organ,
Frankie Knuckles,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Shadows of Knight,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Gun Club,
Steve Hackett,
Spoonie Gee,
Soft Cell,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Connie Case,
Urselle, Urselle, Urselle, Urselle.
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.