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 United States and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 808 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 The Smoke to the disco 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 The Gories. All the underground hits.
All Bizarre Inc. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
China Crisis,
The Associates,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Grey Daturas,
The Leaves,
John Cale,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Byron Stingily,
the Bar-Kays,
The Moleskins,
The Blackbyrds,
Albert Ayler,
Visage,
Derrick May,
The Smiths,
Kurtis Blow,
Duran Duran,
Tommy Roe,
Nico,
MDC,
Freddie Wadling,
Anakelly,
Monolake,
The Gun Club,
Pere Ubu,
David McCallum,
The Pop Group,
Das Ding,
The Index,
Harry Pussy,
The Zeros,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Mark Hollis,
Ludus,
Bronski Beat,
Terry Callier,
Cal Tjader,
Robert Hood,
H. Thieme,
Wolf Eyes,
Desert Stars,
F. McDonald,
Cameo,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Gastr Del Sol,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Depeche Mode,
Smog,
Circle Jerks,
The Grass Roots,
The Beau Brummels,
Nick Fraelich,
The Offenders,
Jerry's Kids,
Todd Rundgren,
The Fortunes,
Chris & Cosey,
The Skatalites,
Cabaret Voltaire, Cabaret Voltaire, Cabaret Voltaire, Cabaret Voltaire.
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.