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 Slovenia and from Mexico City.
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 1965 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the güiro 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 Reuben Wilson to the disco kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Dennis Brown. All the underground hits.
All Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every E-Dancer 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 a 808 and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nik Kershaw,
Man Eating Sloth,
Roxette,
Howard Jones,
Procol Harum,
The New Christs,
Alphaville,
Susan Cadogan,
the Soft Cell,
Prince Buster,
Arthur Verocai,
Saccharine Trust,
Electric Prunes,
U.S. Maple,
The Music Machine,
the Swans,
The Pretty Things,
Das Ding,
Albert Ayler,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Clear Light,
Scrapy,
Blossom Toes,
Schoolly D,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Nation of Ulysses,
Terry Callier,
Bill Wells,
Man Parrish,
Warren Ellis,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Ponytail,
Bronski Beat,
Harpers Bizarre,
Eric B and Rakim,
Gil Scott Heron,
Hardrive,
Tim Buckley,
Sandy B,
The Electric Prunes,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
The Shadows of Knight,
B.T. Express,
Niagra,
Bill Near,
the Normal,
Bang On A Can,
The Index,
Tres Demented,
Liliput,
Absolute Body Control,
Icehouse,
John Cale,
Half Japanese,
Andrew Hill,
Jawbox,
Infiniti,
Sugar Minott, Sugar Minott, Sugar Minott, Sugar Minott.
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.