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 Bahrain and from Hong Kong.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Funkadelic to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Richard Hell and the Voidoids. All the underground hits.
All Kings Of Tomorrow tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barrington Levy 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Neon Judgement record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
H. Thieme,
Pantytec,
Erasure,
The Dirtbombs,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Martian,
Lyres,
Vainqueur,
Y Pants,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Motions,
June Days,
Dawn Penn,
The Durutti Column,
F. McDonald,
Guru Guru,
Arab on Radar,
Eric Dolphy,
The Monks,
K-Klass,
Letta Mbulu,
Ultravox,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Seeds,
Anakelly,
Jerry's Kids,
The Residents,
JFA,
The New Christs,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Fall,
Severed Heads,
Tommy Roe,
The Young Rascals,
The Pop Group,
Alice Coltrane,
Stockholm Monsters,
Mantronix,
Hardrive,
Radio Birdman,
Alison Limerick,
Khruangbin,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Jawbox,
Ten City,
Black Sheep,
The Modern Lovers,
Franke,
Jesper Dahlback,
Camberwell Now,
Eddi Front,
Janne Schatter,
The Star Department,
the Sonics,
Maurizio,
Pole,
Marvin Gaye,
D'Angelo,
Tres Demented,
Derrick May,
Robert Görl,
The Index, The Index, The Index, The Index.
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.