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 Bulgaria and from Winnipeg.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the oboe 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 Alison Limerick to the dance 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 Toasters. All the underground hits.
All Wally Richardson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Certain Ratio record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Pus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sexual Harrassment,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Sixth Finger,
Scan 7,
Wally Richardson,
Nik Kershaw,
Lower 48,
Gang Gang Dance,
Aloha Tigers,
the Association,
James White and The Blacks,
Juan Atkins,
Basic Channel,
Curtis Mayfield,
Pussy Galore,
the Soft Cell,
Dennis Brown,
Crooked Eye,
Anakelly,
Godley & Creme,
The Toasters,
Simply Red,
Pere Ubu,
Chrome,
Ronnie Foster,
The Durutti Column,
The Victims,
Skaos,
David McCallum,
Glambeats Corp.,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Brick,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Index,
Funky Four + One,
Fluxion,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Gang Starr,
Vainqueur,
Pole,
Roxy Music,
Panda Bear,
Animal Collective,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Smoke,
The Fire Engines,
Barclay James Harvest,
Ice-T,
Unrelated Segments,
The Red Krayola,
Scion,
Spandau Ballet,
The Fuzztones,
The Alarm Clocks,
Gang of Four,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Names,
Bobby Sherman,
Radio Birdman,
Gong,
Lungfish,
Howard Jones,
Bronski Beat,
Sister Nancy,
Ludus, Ludus, Ludus, Ludus.
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.