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 Montenegro and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 harpsichord 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 Young Rascals to the grime 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 Stockholm Monsters. All the underground hits.
All Fatback Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Johnny Clarke record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 a synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Urselle record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sun City Girls,
Kayak,
T.S.O.L.,
Ohio Players,
K-Klass,
The Trojans,
Wire,
Glenn Branca,
the Swans,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
R.M.O.,
This Heat,
Babytalk,
Buzzcocks,
Dead Boys,
Sandy B,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Theoretical Girls,
Scrapy,
10cc,
Arcadia,
Cameo,
Silicon Teens,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Skatalites,
The Star Department,
Leonard Cohen,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Johnny Clarke,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Slick Rick,
Anakelly,
The Cure,
Donald Byrd,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Malaria!,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Neon Judgement,
Inner City,
Colin Newman,
Scion,
Hoover,
Drive Like Jehu,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
8 Eyed Spy,
UT,
Maleditus Sound,
Easy Going,
Groovy Waters,
Stockholm Monsters,
Marmalade,
The Tremeloes,
Ultravox,
Skaos,
Fear,
Matthew Bourne,
Supertramp,
Mad Mike,
Television,
Mark Hollis,
Aswad,
Eric B and Rakim,
Nils Olav, Nils Olav, Nils Olav, Nils Olav.
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.