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 Madagascar and from Johannesburg.
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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 Robert Palmer 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 Smog to the punk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 The Happenings. All the underground hits.
All Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sexual Harrassment 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a harpsichord 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 a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes 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?
Interpol,
Radiohead,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
the Sonics,
DJ Sneak,
Aural Exciters,
Icehouse,
The Velvet Underground,
Thee Headcoats,
Jawbox,
Idris Muhammad,
Judy Mowatt,
Wings,
The Saints,
Minny Pops,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
B.T. Express,
John Coltrane,
Masters at Work,
Ken Boothe,
Pulsallama,
John Holt,
Magazine,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Y Pants,
The Smiths,
K-Klass,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Blues Magoos,
Terrestrial Tones,
James White and The Blacks,
Don Cherry,
Nils Olav,
The Cramps,
Joey Negro,
Matthew Halsall,
Terry Callier,
Royal Trux,
Tropical Tobacco,
Aswad,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Chris & Cosey,
Animal Collective,
Tubeway Army,
Talk Talk,
The Knickerbockers,
Cameo,
Peter and Kerry,
Dead Boys,
the Bar-Kays,
The Litter,
Scratch Acid,
X-Ray Spex,
Curtis Mayfield,
Marcia Griffiths,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Neon Judgement,
Johnny Osbourne,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Beau Brummels, The Beau Brummels, The Beau Brummels, The Beau Brummels.
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.