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 Bahrain and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx to the electroclash 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 Thee Headcoats. All the underground hits.
All Nico tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Knickerbockers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Pop Group record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Johnny Osbourne,
Donny Hathaway,
F. McDonald,
Subhumans,
Marc Almond,
Kevin Saunderson,
Anakelly,
Lightning Bolt,
June Days,
Bauhaus,
Faust,
the Normal,
Monolake,
Henry Cow,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Smoke,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Rites of Spring,
Patti Smith,
Funkadelic,
Zero Boys,
Mr. Review,
Moebius,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Tommy Roe,
Supertramp,
Stockholm Monsters,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Loose Ends,
PIL,
Scott Walker,
A Flock of Seagulls,
L. Decosne,
Donald Byrd,
Panda Bear,
Maleditus Sound,
Lindisfarne,
Max Romeo,
Television Personalities,
Man Eating Sloth,
Flipper,
Faraquet,
Althea and Donna,
Sister Nancy,
Jeff Lynne,
Bang On A Can,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Kinks,
Dual Sessions,
Minnie Riperton,
Roxette,
Ralphi Rosario,
Dave Gahan,
Angry Samoans,
Black Moon,
Tomorrow,
Grauzone,
Pharoah Sanders,
Roy Ayers,
The Remains, The Remains, The Remains, The Remains.
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.