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 Bolivia and from Stockholm.
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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 rhodes 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 Oppenheimer Analysis to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Ultra Naté. All the underground hits.
All The Alarm Clocks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Traffic Nightmare record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Altered Images record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Circle Jerks,
Mark Hollis,
Bad Manners,
The Seeds,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Morten Harket,
The Dead C,
Sonny Sharrock,
Severed Heads,
New York Dolls,
Pussy Galore,
Yaz,
Make Up,
Pole,
Basic Channel,
Joe Smooth,
Youth Brigade,
The Birthday Party,
Index,
Underground Resistance,
the Human League,
Moss Icon,
The Gories,
Reagan Youth,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Neu!,
The Slits,
Drexciya,
Althea and Donna,
Zero Boys,
The Five Americans,
The Velvet Underground,
The Durutti Column,
Cybotron,
Pet Shop Boys,
Crispy Ambulance,
Amon Düül II,
the Normal,
Lungfish,
Flash Fearless,
The Divine Comedy,
Ultimate Spinach,
Gang of Four,
Bob Dylan,
Ultra Naté,
Lindisfarne,
The Cramps,
Fifty Foot Hose,
June of 44,
Terrestrial Tones,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
the Germs,
Erasure,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Girls At Our Best!,
Rites of Spring,
Kerrie Biddell,
Blancmange,
Leonard Cohen,
Soft Cell,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak.
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.