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 Thailand and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Copenhagen.
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 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 Captain Beefheart 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 Angry Samoans to the dance 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 The Moleskins. All the underground hits.
All Magma tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every DJ Style record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marine Girls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eddi Front,
Glambeats Corp.,
Little Man,
Royal Trux,
Kayak,
Rapeman,
Wire,
Alton Ellis,
The Martian,
the Association,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
David Bowie,
Sonny Sharrock,
Ken Boothe,
Bobby Sherman,
The Move,
David Axelrod,
Boz Scaggs,
Darondo,
Sight & Sound,
Sam Rivers,
Clear Light,
The Cure,
MDC,
Khruangbin,
The Sonics,
John Lydon,
Cymande,
Nico,
Pharoah Sanders,
New Order,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Fortunes,
Groovy Waters,
Kenny Larkin,
Matthew Bourne,
Tubeway Army,
Whodini,
Max Romeo,
The Blues Magoos,
Spandau Ballet,
Scratch Acid,
The Red Krayola,
Flipper,
Altered Images,
Henry Cow,
Jacques Brel,
Newcleus,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Simply Red,
Derrick Morgan,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Star Department,
Kurtis Blow,
Basic Channel,
Radio Birdman,
Stereo Dub,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Residents,
Mission of Burma,
Mandrill,
Oneida,
Crime, Crime, Crime, Crime.
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.