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 Finland and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Neon Judgement to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Pop Group. All the underground hits.
All Sad Lovers and Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pantytec 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Camouflage record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crooked Eye,
Wolf Eyes,
Infiniti,
Stiv Bators,
Scientists,
Black Sheep,
Arthur Verocai,
Khruangbin,
Pierre Henry,
Malaria!,
Quando Quango,
Man Eating Sloth,
Lindisfarne,
Avey Tare,
Eden Ahbez,
Gichy Dan,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Delta 5,
Livin' Joy,
Roger Hodgson,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Black Dice,
The Names,
U.S. Maple,
Japan,
Carl Craig,
The Blackbyrds,
Gil Scott Heron,
Reagan Youth,
Wire,
World's Most,
the Germs,
Andrew Hill,
Bootsy Collins,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Sonics,
Los Fastidios,
One Last Wish,
Mission of Burma,
Gabor Szabo,
Derrick May,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Tommy Roe,
Frankie Knuckles,
Gang Green,
The Wake,
Bobby Womack,
Johnny Clarke,
The Dave Clark Five,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Urselle,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Sandy B,
Soul Sonic Force,
Marmalade,
Youth Brigade,
Fear,
Maurizio,
Nirvana,
John Lydon,
The Remains,
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.