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 Nicaragua and from Shanghai.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 F. McDonald to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo. All the underground hits.
All James White and The Blacks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every K-Klass 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Busters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Prince Buster,
Anakelly,
Metal Thangz,
Pussy Galore,
Neil Young,
Shuggie Otis,
Al Stewart,
Dennis Brown,
the Normal,
Stiv Bators,
The Birthday Party,
Scott Walker,
8 Eyed Spy,
Lower 48,
The Last Poets,
The Walker Brothers,
X-102,
Bill Near,
Siglo XX,
Roxy Music,
The New Christs,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Thompson Twins,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Nas,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Unwound,
Royal Trux,
Marc Almond,
Talk Talk,
Matthew Bourne,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Interpol,
The Fall,
Ludus,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Blake Baxter,
Circle Jerks,
Monolake,
Shoche,
Nirvana,
Patti Smith,
Radiohead,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Bronski Beat,
Ituana,
Yaz,
Masters at Work,
The Cure,
The Barracudas,
Malaria!,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Glambeats Corp.,
Kerrie Biddell,
ABC,
Jeru the Damaja,
Accadde A,
Sugar Minott,
Wings, Wings, Wings, Wings.
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.