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 Haiti and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 808 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 Sandy B to the crunk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Index. All the underground hits.
All London Community Gospel Choir tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Malaria! record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sister Nancy,
Thee Headcoats,
Fela Kuti,
Byron Stingily,
Peter & Gordon,
The Buckinghams,
Johnny Clarke,
The Happenings,
Lyres,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Bill Near,
Godley & Creme,
The Tremeloes,
Robert Görl,
John Cale,
the Human League,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
L. Decosne,
The Index,
Terry Callier,
John Holt,
AZ,
Sonic Youth,
Barbara Tucker,
Fugazi,
Lindisfarne,
The Music Machine,
The Five Americans,
Harpers Bizarre,
Television Personalities,
Kas Product,
Warsaw,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Yaz,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Pretty Things,
The Star Department,
New Age Steppers,
Bush Tetras,
Joe Finger,
Monks,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Sun Ra,
Man Parrish,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Names,
June of 44,
The Smoke,
Ken Boothe,
Animal Collective,
The Real Kids,
Amazonics,
Von Mondo,
Albert Ayler,
Neu!,
Theoretical Girls,
Drive Like Jehu,
Siglo XX,
Dennis Brown,
Toni Rubio,
Ultravox,
Guru Guru,
Arthur Verocai, Arthur Verocai, Arthur Verocai, Arthur Verocai.
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.