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 Norway and from Halifax.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Lyon.
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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Brass Construction to the disco kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Eden Ahbez. All the underground hits.
All Bob Dylan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Gories record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 a mellotron and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fela Kuti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Black Dice,
Maleditus Sound,
Aswad,
Avey Tare,
Maurizio,
The Tremeloes,
Barbara Tucker,
Lou Christie,
Smog,
The Sound,
Hot Snakes,
the Swans,
Sun City Girls,
Donald Byrd,
Rapeman,
Althea and Donna,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Skatalites,
Deadbeat,
Nico,
the Normal,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Index,
The Move,
Robert Wyatt,
Pole,
Tim Buckley,
Sexual Harrassment,
Buzzcocks,
Cecil Taylor,
Fad Gadget,
Alice Coltrane,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Happenings,
Harry Pussy,
Don Cherry,
Von Mondo,
Joe Smooth,
Graham Central Station,
Juan Atkins,
John Coltrane,
The Selecter,
Brick,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Durutti Column,
Man Eating Sloth,
Spandau Ballet,
JFA,
Erykah Badu,
Joy Division,
Scientists,
Second Layer,
Sugar Minott,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Livin' Joy,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Surgeon,
Jandek,
Sun Ra,
Terry Callier,
Erasure,
Index, Index, Index, Index.
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.