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 Cyprus and from Johannesburg.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Rites of Spring to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Dave Gahan. All the underground hits.
All John Lydon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Buzzcocks 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James White and The Blacks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Johnny Osbourne,
Al Stewart,
Fatback Band,
Althea and Donna,
Piero Umiliani,
The Smiths,
Warsaw,
the Association,
Lightning Bolt,
The Dirtbombs,
Ronnie Foster,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Das Ding,
Gastr Del Sol,
the Slits,
Marshall Jefferson,
Interpol,
Flamin' Groovies,
Ken Boothe,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Birthday Party,
The Remains,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Marine Girls,
The Gun Club,
Eve St. Jones,
Excepter,
The Barracudas,
Unwound,
Sonny Sharrock,
Shoche,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Pagans,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Doobie Brothers,
Camberwell Now,
Suburban Knight,
Minny Pops,
Cheater Slicks,
Eddi Front,
Lakeside,
Wire,
Delta 5,
Rotary Connection,
Black Pus,
L. Decosne,
These Immortal Souls,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Chris Corsano,
Chris & Cosey,
Colin Newman,
H. Thieme,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Nation of Ulysses,
Crispian St. Peters,
Scan 7,
Bill Near,
Howard Jones,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds.
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.