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 Colombia and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Rahsaan Roland Kirk to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 the Sonics. All the underground hits.
All Black Sheep tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Angels of Light & Akron/Family record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 clarinet and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Grass Roots record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Joey Negro,
The Smoke,
Wasted Youth,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Joyce Sims,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
New Order,
Livin' Joy,
Roxy Music,
Maleditus Sound,
Silicon Teens,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Trojans,
The Move,
Aural Exciters,
Rakim,
The Saints,
Patti Smith,
The Dead C,
Todd Terry,
Underground Resistance,
H. Thieme,
The Knickerbockers,
Khruangbin,
Gang Gang Dance,
Scott Walker,
Marine Girls,
Icehouse,
Visage,
Fluxion,
Reagan Youth,
New Age Steppers,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Davy DMX,
Lungfish,
The Alarm Clocks,
Brand Nubian,
Tommy Roe,
AZ,
Amon Düül,
Sonic Youth,
Delta 5,
The Black Dice,
Arthur Verocai,
Chris Corsano,
Thompson Twins,
Robert Görl,
Public Enemy,
The Cure,
Barrington Levy,
Grey Daturas,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Gerry Rafferty,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Steve Hackett,
Negative Approach,
Procol Harum,
The Modern Lovers,
Camouflage,
Vladislav Delay,
Gong, Gong, Gong, Gong.
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.