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 Seychelles and from Salvador.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Man Parrish to the rap 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 Absolute Body Control. All the underground hits.
All Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every In Retrospect 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a X-101 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dark Day,
Nik Kershaw,
Black Bananas,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Black Dice,
The Knickerbockers,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Blossom Toes,
Basic Channel,
The Buckinghams,
The Saints,
Althea and Donna,
The Walker Brothers,
The Fire Engines,
Minny Pops,
Duran Duran,
Groovy Waters,
The Pretty Things,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Ituana,
Talk Talk,
Soulsonic Force,
The Dirtbombs,
Au Pairs,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Ken Boothe,
Laurel Aitken,
Eric Dolphy,
Smog,
Terrestrial Tones,
Gang Green,
Cheater Slicks,
Public Enemy,
Popol Vuh,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Black Sheep,
Godley & Creme,
Severed Heads,
F. McDonald,
Tres Demented,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Todd Terry,
Frankie Knuckles,
Spandau Ballet,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Fuzztones,
The American Breed,
Technova,
Tim Buckley,
Cameo,
Sun City Girls,
Ronan,
The Monks,
The Golliwogs,
Easy Going,
The Angels of Light,
The Shadows of Knight,
Funkadelic,
Sound Behaviour,
The Tremeloes,
The Gap Band,
Sight & Sound, Sight & Sound, Sight & Sound, Sight & Sound.
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.