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 St Lucia and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 oboe 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 Radio Birdman to the disco kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 CMW. All the underground hits.
All The Mummies tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Isaac Hayes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masters at Work record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Grey Daturas,
Dawn Penn,
Johnny Clarke,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Con Funk Shun,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
June of 44,
Bluetip,
Rites of Spring,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Gichy Dan,
Das Ding,
the Sonics,
The Shadows of Knight,
Man Eating Sloth,
Toni Rubio,
Connie Case,
Nik Kershaw,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Pierre Henry,
Aswad,
Hoover,
Subhumans,
Don Cherry,
Excepter,
Warren Ellis,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Gap Band,
Parry Music,
Curtis Mayfield,
Tom Boy,
Ludus,
Thee Headcoats,
Skaos,
David Bowie,
The Neon Judgement,
Main Source,
Jacob Miller,
The Mojo Men,
The Vogues,
The Star Department,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
the Fania All-Stars,
Scratch Acid,
Bill Near,
Alice Coltrane,
Agent Orange,
Nick Fraelich,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Throbbing Gristle,
Kayak,
Eric B and Rakim,
Sarah Menescal,
Grauzone,
Swell Maps,
Marmalade,
Lyres,
K-Klass,
Los Fastidios,
Joey Negro,
The Human League,
Intrusion,
Interpol, Interpol, Interpol, Interpol.
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.