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 El Salvador and from Delhi.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 Michael McDonald 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 Magazine to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 X-102. All the underground hits.
All Beasts of Bourbon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Andrew Hill record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 an arpeggiator and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Robert Hood,
Moss Icon,
Agent Orange,
Scott Walker,
Ludus,
Barrington Levy,
Black Pus,
Warsaw,
Smog,
Darondo,
Infiniti,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Nation of Ulysses,
Black Bananas,
June Days,
Public Enemy,
EPMD,
Angry Samoans,
Cheater Slicks,
Rekid,
The Sonics,
Mark Hollis,
Rosa Yemen,
Robert Wyatt,
Albert Ayler,
Surgeon,
Supertramp,
Vladislav Delay,
The Standells,
The Wake,
Maleditus Sound,
China Crisis,
Aural Exciters,
Freddie Wadling,
John Lydon,
Aswad,
The Offenders,
Connie Case,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Drexciya,
Nik Kershaw,
Adolescents,
Hashim,
The Birthday Party,
The Smoke,
John Holt,
Das Ding,
This Heat,
Amon Düül II,
The Busters,
The New Christs,
Echospace,
Pulsallama,
Pantytec,
Siglo XX,
The Divine Comedy,
Crime,
Yazoo,
Deepchord,
Ultra Naté,
cv313,
Kevin Saunderson, Kevin Saunderson, Kevin Saunderson, Kevin Saunderson.
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.