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 Philippines and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Fire Engines to the crunk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Barracudas. All the underground hits.
All London Community Gospel Choir tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Sisters of Mercy 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Deakin record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
The Slits,
Y Pants,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Dark Day,
Q and Not U,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Sparks,
AZ,
The Tremeloes,
Kerrie Biddell,
OOIOO,
David Axelrod,
Ice-T,
Crime,
Sonny Sharrock,
Stetsasonic,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Iggy Pop,
Duran Duran,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Nils Olav,
Eric Dolphy,
Drive Like Jehu,
Radiohead,
The Golliwogs,
Minor Threat,
These Immortal Souls,
Jacques Brel,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Scrapy,
Buzzcocks,
Joe Finger,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Black Moon,
Quando Quango,
Scratch Acid,
Don Cherry,
Isaac Hayes,
Kenny Larkin,
The American Breed,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Suicide,
Dead Boys,
Arab on Radar,
Tommy Roe,
Roxy Music,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Martian,
Massinfluence,
Suburban Knight,
Bob Dylan,
Joyce Sims,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Misunderstood,
Organ,
Fear,
Monolake,
Crooked Eye,
Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux, Royal Trux.
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.