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 Venezuela and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 Madrid and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Jimmy McGriff to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Wally Richardson. All the underground hits.
All Crispian St. Peters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every DNA record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a X-Ray Spex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
48th St. Collective,
Bronski Beat,
Wings,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Deakin,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
MDC,
The Fugs,
Eli Mardock,
Wally Richardson,
Boz Scaggs,
Animal Collective,
Rekid,
Iggy Pop,
Pierre Henry,
Tomorrow,
Derrick Morgan,
John Cale,
Tom Boy,
Lou Reed,
Letta Mbulu,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Ralphi Rosario,
Panda Bear,
Procol Harum,
Camouflage,
Deadbeat,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Standells,
EPMD,
Roy Ayers,
Flash Fearless,
Johnny Osbourne,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Barracudas,
Severed Heads,
Lyres,
Jawbox,
Make Up,
Youth Brigade,
Isaac Hayes,
The Pretty Things,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Jeff Mills,
Don Cherry,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Sound Behaviour,
The Evens,
Clear Light,
The Last Poets,
The Martian,
Shoche,
Mark Hollis,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Hashim,
Eddi Front,
The Dave Clark Five,
Ice-T,
Depeche Mode,
The Knickerbockers,
The Slits,
The Angels of Light,
Funky Four + One, Funky Four + One, Funky Four + One, Funky Four + One.
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.