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 Uruguay and from Lagos.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the organ 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 Robert Wyatt to the jazz 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 Aswad. All the underground hits.
All Brand Nubian tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Charles Mingus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 marimba and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Y Pants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Associates,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Real Kids,
Piero Umiliani,
Icehouse,
Terrestrial Tones,
Monolake,
Hot Snakes,
Donald Byrd,
Boz Scaggs,
Bush Tetras,
Sister Nancy,
Ultravox,
The Trojans,
Crash Course in Science,
Soul II Soul,
Motorama,
Roxette,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Sun Ra,
Man Parrish,
Eric Copeland,
Cameo,
The Invisible,
Sun City Girls,
Derrick Morgan,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
China Crisis,
Wasted Youth,
the Slits,
Bang On A Can,
Lebanon Hanover,
Au Pairs,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Index,
Section 25,
Procol Harum,
Organ,
The Monochrome Set,
The Cure,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Babytalk,
Ralphi Rosario,
Oblivians,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
K-Klass,
The Flesh Eaters,
Japan,
Mary Jane Girls,
OOIOO,
Pagans,
Judy Mowatt,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Buckinghams,
Althea and Donna,
Al Stewart,
Jeru the Damaja,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
X-Ray Spex,
Fat Boys,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Dave Gahan,
John Coltrane,
Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys.
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.