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 Tanzania and from Beijing.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Absolute Body Control to the grunge 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 EPMD. All the underground hits.
All Red Lorry Yellow Lorry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Model 500 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Count Five record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
Steve Hackett,
Tom Boy,
The Fortunes,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Saints,
The Velvet Underground,
Mary Jane Girls,
Wolf Eyes,
Lou Christie,
Barbara Tucker,
Country Teasers,
Stereo Dub,
Drexciya,
the Association,
The Electric Prunes,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Rites of Spring,
Panda Bear,
Marc Almond,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Neon Judgement,
Quadrant,
Trumans Water,
Saccharine Trust,
Alice Coltrane,
Sound Behaviour,
Matthew Halsall,
The Happenings,
Public Image Ltd.,
Idris Muhammad,
Marvin Gaye,
Kevin Saunderson,
Scion,
Malaria!,
the Fania All-Stars,
DJ Style,
JFA,
Franke,
Robert Wyatt,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Crispy Ambulance,
Lou Reed,
Stiv Bators,
The Techniques,
Siglo XX,
Cymande,
Jerry's Kids,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Bob Dylan,
Radio Birdman,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Move,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Blake Baxter,
Girls At Our Best!,
Ronan,
Outsiders,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Ultravox,
Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon.
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.