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 Mauritius and from Shanghai.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in 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 Crash Course in Science to the crunk 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 Lightning Bolt. All the underground hits.
All the Slits tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pet Shop Boys record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Graham Central Station record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Happenings,
Reuben Wilson,
Brick,
Suburban Knight,
The Names,
The Grass Roots,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Index,
In Retrospect,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Quantec,
Anthony Braxton,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Wasted Youth,
A Certain Ratio,
The Moleskins,
Nik Kershaw,
Hashim,
Massinfluence,
Cymande,
Barry Ungar,
The Standells,
Parry Music,
Gerry Rafferty,
Sister Nancy,
The Birthday Party,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Mars,
Vladislav Delay,
Fluxion,
Kerri Chandler,
Barclay James Harvest,
Kool Moe Dee,
Jawbox,
T.S.O.L.,
U.S. Maple,
Aural Exciters,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Goldenarms,
Ice-T,
The Red Krayola,
Ultimate Spinach,
Donald Byrd,
Guru Guru,
The Victims,
Harpers Bizarre,
Throbbing Gristle,
Organ,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Erykah Badu,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Archie Shepp,
K-Klass,
Todd Terry,
Bob Dylan,
Sällskapet,
The Golliwogs,
Bobby Womack,
Oneida,
Rapeman,
Flamin' Groovies,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Pantytec, Pantytec, Pantytec, Pantytec.
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.