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 Netherlands and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 spring reverb 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 Underground Resistance to the grime kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 The Royal Family And The Poor. All the underground hits.
All Prince Buster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every a-ha 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Music Machine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Cecil Taylor,
Drive Like Jehu,
Ten City,
Freddie Wadling,
Y Pants,
Donald Byrd,
Outsiders,
Brick,
Thompson Twins,
Soft Machine,
Goldenarms,
T. Rex,
The Neon Judgement,
8 Eyed Spy,
Big Daddy Kane,
B.T. Express,
Henry Cow,
Bobby Sherman,
The Knickerbockers,
Young Marble Giants,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Mantronix,
The Beau Brummels,
The Mummies,
Crispy Ambulance,
June Days,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Altered Images,
Bad Manners,
David Bowie,
The Smiths,
Scion,
Judy Mowatt,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Minutemen,
Sex Pistols,
Severed Heads,
Bush Tetras,
Pole,
The Invisible,
Hashim,
The Index,
The Cure,
One Last Wish,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Count Five,
Ponytail,
Black Moon,
The Evens,
Livin' Joy,
Bronski Beat,
The Standells,
the Slits,
Idris Muhammad,
Ohio Players,
The Human League,
FM Einheit,
CMW,
Excepter,
The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills.
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.