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 Uruguay and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Cairo.
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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the guitar 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang to the funk 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 Simply Red. All the underground hits.
All Radiohead tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Teenage Jesus and the Jerks 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Durutti Column record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Amon Düül II,
Scion,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Franke,
The Evens,
The Dead C,
Wolf Eyes,
X-Ray Spex,
Crime,
the Swans,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Martian,
Minor Threat,
Excepter,
Gang of Four,
Davy DMX,
Johnny Osbourne,
Adolescents,
Prince Buster,
The American Breed,
The Victims,
Whodini,
Smog,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
James White and The Blacks,
Roxette,
The Black Dice,
Fad Gadget,
Talk Talk,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Gong,
Depeche Mode,
Shuggie Otis,
Mr. Review,
Joy Division,
F. McDonald,
Royal Trux,
Donald Byrd,
The Flesh Eaters,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Black Bananas,
Tommy Roe,
Dark Day,
Yazoo,
Funky Four + One,
Charles Mingus,
Roxy Music,
Max Romeo,
Barry Ungar,
Niagra,
DJ Sneak,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Bluetip,
Nik Kershaw,
The Residents,
Gichy Dan,
Blake Baxter,
The Fire Engines,
Archie Shepp,
Stetsasonic,
Vladislav Delay,
The Monks, The Monks, The Monks, The Monks.
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.