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 Angola and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 Joyce Sims to the disco 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 Barclay James Harvest. All the underground hits.
All Qualms tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Henry Cow record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 chamberlin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator 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?
Banda Bassotti,
Lightning Bolt,
Unwound,
In Retrospect,
Los Fastidios,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Graham Central Station,
Cymande,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Cure,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Organ,
Sparks,
The Slits,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Flesh Eaters,
Neu!,
Audionom,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
John Lydon,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Harpers Bizarre,
Eurythmics,
the Swans,
Gichy Dan,
Monolake,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Rekid,
a-ha,
John Holt,
Kerri Chandler,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Crooked Eye,
cv313,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Sex Pistols,
The Busters,
The Stooges,
Al Stewart,
New York Dolls,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Roxy Music,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Grandmaster Flash,
Flash Fearless,
ABC,
Pagans,
The Cowsills,
Magma,
James White and The Blacks,
Marmalade,
Second Layer,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Hardrive,
Television Personalities,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Roger Hodgson,
Scratch Acid,
Avey Tare, Avey Tare, Avey Tare, Avey Tare.
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.