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 Gabon and from Philadelphia.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock to the grime 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 The Litter. All the underground hits.
All 48th St. Collective tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Chocolate Watch Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 spring reverb and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Red Krayola,
The Cramps,
Henry Cow,
Hashim,
DJ Sneak,
The Martian,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Doors,
Jawbox,
Bauhaus,
Flamin' Groovies,
T. Rex,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Bobby Womack,
The Gories,
Sexual Harrassment,
Oneida,
Reagan Youth,
Tom Boy,
Lungfish,
Slave,
Bill Near,
the Fania All-Stars,
Schoolly D,
Lakeside,
John Lydon,
Michelle Simonal,
Man Eating Sloth,
Black Pus,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Gladiators,
Charles Mingus,
The Flesh Eaters,
Gastr Del Sol,
Lalo Schifrin,
R.M.O.,
Barbara Tucker,
Amon Düül II,
The Stooges,
Severed Heads,
Crash Course in Science,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Kas Product,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Jandek,
Rekid,
Carl Craig,
Sixth Finger,
Lightning Bolt,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Mummies,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
kango's stein massive,
Ken Boothe,
Slick Rick,
Stereo Dub,
Metal Thangz,
Desert Stars,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Dave Clark Five,
Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics.
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.