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 Ecuador and from Copenhagen.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 F. McDonald to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All Yellowson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marshall Jefferson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Howard Jones,
Oneida,
Harry Pussy,
June Days,
The Flesh Eaters,
Absolute Body Control,
Flash Fearless,
Derrick Morgan,
Gang of Four,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Gang Green,
Rosa Yemen,
The Smoke,
Mandrill,
Das Ding,
Sam Rivers,
Bobby Womack,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Index,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Remains,
Bill Wells,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Tom Boy,
Bush Tetras,
Aaron Thompson,
The Evens,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
PIL,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
These Immortal Souls,
The Mummies,
Nation of Ulysses,
Traffic Nightmare,
Marc Almond,
Minny Pops,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Ralphi Rosario,
Sarah Menescal,
Boogie Down Productions,
Mr. Review,
Drive Like Jehu,
Hashim,
Leonard Cohen,
Mars,
Marmalade,
The Human League,
the Slits,
Godley & Creme,
Jeru the Damaja,
New Age Steppers,
Henry Cow,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Albert Ayler,
Slave,
Tubeway Army,
Easy Going,
Interpol,
Don Cherry,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle.
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.