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 Seychelles and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in 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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 marimba 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 Rites of Spring to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Mission of Burma. All the underground hits.
All Hardrive tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Kinks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Johnny Osbourne record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Litter,
PIL,
Maurizio,
Agent Orange,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Byron Stingily,
Fad Gadget,
Ronnie Foster,
Icehouse,
Ponytail,
X-101,
Lungfish,
The Flesh Eaters,
Pagans,
Slave,
Amazonics,
Tres Demented,
Aloha Tigers,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Alison Limerick,
Jacques Brel,
the Slits,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Robert Wyatt,
Stetsasonic,
Jacob Miller,
Bobby Sherman,
Gong,
The Beau Brummels,
Shoche,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Basic Channel,
A Flock of Seagulls,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Dual Sessions,
Swell Maps,
Urselle,
Dead Boys,
Tears for Fears,
Roxy Music,
Gang Starr,
F. McDonald,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Curtis Mayfield,
Scrapy,
The Fugs,
Talk Talk,
The Martian,
Sixth Finger,
the Swans,
Q and Not U,
Fugazi,
DNA,
Man Eating Sloth,
Yazoo,
Fluxion,
Joe Finger,
Rapeman,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Suburban Knight,
Nirvana, Nirvana, Nirvana, Nirvana.
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.