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 Greece and from Mumbai.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Madrid.
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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 The Flesh Eaters to the crunk 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 Wings. All the underground hits.
All Nils Olav tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scott Walker + Sunn O))) 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Alton Ellis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bronski Beat,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Count Five,
Scratch Acid,
Siglo XX,
DNA,
Glenn Branca,
The Motions,
The Selecter,
FM Einheit,
John Holt,
the Association,
Moby Grape,
The Slackers,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Kas Product,
Dark Day,
Jimmy McGriff,
Tropical Tobacco,
Kurtis Blow,
Hashim,
Suburban Knight,
Steve Hackett,
Harpers Bizarre,
Radio Birdman,
Oneida,
Bobby Womack,
Faraquet,
the Swans,
Josef K,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Durutti Column,
Gregory Isaacs,
Cheater Slicks,
Second Layer,
Von Mondo,
The Blues Magoos,
The Alarm Clocks,
Popol Vuh,
Mo-Dettes,
Isaac Hayes,
Freddie Wadling,
Angry Samoans,
New York Dolls,
Fad Gadget,
Chris & Cosey,
F. McDonald,
Pierre Henry,
Bill Near,
Thee Headcoats,
The Barracudas,
Black Flag,
Juan Atkins,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Harmonia,
Depeche Mode,
Ten City,
Kevin Saunderson,
Derrick May, Derrick May, Derrick May, Derrick May.
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.