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 Nepal and from Spokane.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Niagra to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 E-Dancer. All the underground hits.
All Quando Quango tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tropical Tobacco record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Index record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eve St. Jones,
Tears for Fears,
The Dirtbombs,
The Moleskins,
Pantytec,
Slick Rick,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Agent Orange,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
The Cowsills,
KRS-One,
JFA,
Ituana,
Moebius,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Silicon Teens,
John Cale,
Gregory Isaacs,
Lungfish,
Crash Course in Science,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Happenings,
Peter and Kerry,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
David Bowie,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Schoolly D,
Letta Mbulu,
The Pretty Things,
Saccharine Trust,
Negative Approach,
Icehouse,
Wally Richardson,
Kayak,
Lyres,
Eric Dolphy,
Deepchord,
Maurizio,
Patti Smith,
Blake Baxter,
Matthew Bourne,
Arthur Verocai,
The Beau Brummels,
The Modern Lovers,
Cabaret Voltaire,
This Heat,
Matthew Halsall,
the Fania All-Stars,
Pagans,
Eli Mardock,
Al Stewart,
The Black Dice,
Organ,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Steve Hackett,
The Index,
Hot Snakes,
Kenny Larkin,
Albert Ayler,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Deakin,
Soulsonic Force, Soulsonic Force, Soulsonic Force, Soulsonic Force.
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.