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 Mauritania and from Columbus.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 The Durutti Column to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Selecter. All the underground hits.
All Warsaw tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Sheep record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jeff Lynne record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pulsallama,
Hot Snakes,
Mad Mike,
Unrelated Segments,
Lou Christie,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Slits,
The Fire Engines,
Mo-Dettes,
The Selecter,
UT,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Dawn Penn,
The Toasters,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Gichy Dan,
Country Teasers,
The Tremeloes,
Guru Guru,
the Fania All-Stars,
Buzzcocks,
The Cowsills,
Godley & Creme,
Byron Stingily,
The Knickerbockers,
Fugazi,
Cheater Slicks,
MC5,
John Lydon,
H. Thieme,
Bob Dylan,
Kevin Saunderson,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Tommy Roe,
Deadbeat,
Soft Cell,
Aaron Thompson,
Kaleidoscope,
Marcia Griffiths,
Slick Rick,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Letta Mbulu,
Charles Mingus,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Kinks,
Girls At Our Best!,
Lakeside,
Jeff Lynne,
The Detroit Cobras,
Amon Düül II,
Quantec,
Pantytec,
Electric Prunes,
Grauzone,
Ohio Players,
Sixth Finger,
Kool Moe Dee,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Nas,
Moebius, Moebius, Moebius, Moebius.
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.