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 Andorra and from Columbus.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 a-ha to the grime kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Fat Boys. All the underground hits.
All Fad Gadget tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Flamin' Groovies 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 clarinet and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Moon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minor Threat,
Marvin Gaye,
Lalo Schifrin,
Infiniti,
AZ,
It's A Beautiful Day,
D'Angelo,
Marine Girls,
The Cowsills,
The Sound,
Bronski Beat,
Sixth Finger,
Junior Murvin,
Drive Like Jehu,
Reuben Wilson,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Offenders,
Masters at Work,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Detroit Cobras,
Au Pairs,
The Pretty Things,
X-101,
Mad Mike,
Eric B and Rakim,
Intrusion,
Sonic Youth,
The Leaves,
Popol Vuh,
the Swans,
Ice-T,
The Neon Judgement,
Radio Birdman,
Eddi Front,
Al Stewart,
Essential Logic,
Terry Callier,
Visage,
Suburban Knight,
Monks,
The Divine Comedy,
Tommy Roe,
The Last Poets,
The Residents,
the Sonics,
Cymande,
Talk Talk,
Parry Music,
New Order,
Barry Ungar,
Dave Gahan,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Barclay James Harvest,
the Association,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Aural Exciters,
Barrington Levy,
Joe Finger,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
E-Dancer,
The Busters,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars, Desert Stars.
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.