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 Antigua and from Toronto.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 marimba 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 American Breed to the electroclash 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 Talk Talk. All the underground hits.
All Art Ensemble Of Chicago tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dave Clark Five record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Buzzcocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eric Copeland,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Warren Ellis,
Jeru the Damaja,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Divine Comedy,
the Fania All-Stars,
Lightning Bolt,
Second Layer,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Slave,
The Vogues,
The Raincoats,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Associates,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Cheater Slicks,
Black Sheep,
Grandmaster Flash,
Supertramp,
Hot Snakes,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Black Flag,
Organ,
Sandy B,
Godley & Creme,
Arcadia,
The Star Department,
Alice Coltrane,
The American Breed,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Cluster,
Youth Brigade,
The Angels of Light,
The Doobie Brothers,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Gang Gang Dance,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Television,
Fela Kuti,
Harpers Bizarre,
Funky Four + One,
Fat Boys,
Mr. Review,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Franke,
Robert Görl,
The Detroit Cobras,
Barclay James Harvest,
Can,
Throbbing Gristle,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Crime,
Trumans Water,
Subhumans,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Prince Buster,
Angry Samoans,
Porter Ricks,
Tears for Fears,
FM Einheit,
Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy.
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.