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 Tuvalu and from Spokane.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 808 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 The Selecter to the grime 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 Bobby Hutcherson. All the underground hits.
All The United States of America tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alice Coltrane record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fire Engines record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cameo,
The Durutti Column,
Suicide,
cv313,
The Cowsills,
Altered Images,
Soul II Soul,
Marmalade,
The Fugs,
Wasted Youth,
Ponytail,
Visage,
Jimmy McGriff,
Trumans Water,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Pantytec,
the Soft Cell,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Porter Ricks,
Public Enemy,
Mo-Dettes,
The Seeds,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Man Parrish,
Erasure,
Main Source,
ABC,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Silicon Teens,
Lebanon Hanover,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Dawn Penn,
Godley & Creme,
Neil Young,
Gang of Four,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Interpol,
Quantec,
Lyres,
E-Dancer,
Blancmange,
X-102,
The Techniques,
Blake Baxter,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Darondo,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Dave Gahan,
Zero Boys,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Smog,
The Evens,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Brothers Johnson,
Bizarre Inc.,
Fugazi,
It's A Beautiful Day,
T. Rex,
Zapp,
Ultimate Spinach,
Sällskapet,
Skarface, Skarface, Skarface, Skarface.
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.