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 Ethiopia and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 mellotron 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 H. Thieme to the punk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Heavy D & The Boyz. All the underground hits.
All David McCallum tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Flesh Eaters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lalo Schifrin record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Grauzone,
The Smiths,
The Searchers,
Second Layer,
Outsiders,
World's Most,
Roxy Music,
the Soft Cell,
Thompson Twins,
Liliput,
Mary Jane Girls,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Infiniti,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Saints,
The Modern Lovers,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Stereo Dub,
L. Decosne,
Zero Boys,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Chris & Cosey,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Fear,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Wake,
Morten Harket,
Funky Four + One,
Agent Orange,
the Sonics,
Gastr Del Sol,
Ituana,
Piero Umiliani,
The Doobie Brothers,
Gang Green,
Saccharine Trust,
The Alarm Clocks,
Simply Red,
Tubeway Army,
John Cale,
The Busters,
Isaac Hayes,
The Angels of Light,
The Moody Blues,
Jeru the Damaja,
Wolf Eyes,
Radiohead,
Bobby Sherman,
Todd Rundgren,
Q and Not U,
Bob Dylan,
MDC,
Peter and Kerry,
Radio Birdman,
Steve Hackett,
Freddie Wadling,
Barry Ungar,
Ken Boothe,
The Motions,
The Fugs,
Joy Division,
Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson.
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.