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 Micronesia and from Beijing.
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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the sitar 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 Khruangbin to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Crispy Ambulance. All the underground hits.
All This Heat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Richard Hell and the Voidoids record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Doobie Brothers,
The Busters,
The Walker Brothers,
Ossler,
Quantec,
Yellowson,
Nik Kershaw,
Brand Nubian,
Bobby Sherman,
Rekid,
Lyres,
Jacob Miller,
Second Layer,
Porter Ricks,
Bobby Womack,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Gladiators,
Magma,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Siglo XX,
The Shadows of Knight,
Soul Sonic Force,
Stereo Dub,
Byron Stingily,
Fugazi,
Danielle Patucci,
Agent Orange,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Black Dice,
ABBA,
The J.B.'s,
Lee Hazlewood,
Ludus,
Anakelly,
Gang Gang Dance,
Andrew Hill,
The Durutti Column,
Fear,
The Cure,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Mummies,
Cluster,
Morten Harket,
The Seeds,
The Golliwogs,
Radiopuhelimet,
China Crisis,
Pulsallama,
June of 44,
Robert Görl,
Pole,
Y Pants,
Black Moon,
Tubeway Army,
Metal Thangz,
Marcia Griffiths,
Electric Prunes,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Prince Buster,
The Monochrome Set,
The Techniques, The Techniques, The Techniques, The Techniques.
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.