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 Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 punk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Selector Dub Narcotic. All the underground hits.
All Country Joe & The Fish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Skaos record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Spandau Ballet record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Infiniti,
Y Pants,
Slave,
Brick,
Bad Manners,
The Toasters,
Eddi Front,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Sex Pistols,
Eden Ahbez,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Vogues,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
the Swans,
The Divine Comedy,
Todd Terry,
Buzzcocks,
Procol Harum,
Ohio Players,
Carl Craig,
Derrick May,
the Slits,
Matthew Halsall,
Sarah Menescal,
The Busters,
Blancmange,
Rekid,
The Monochrome Set,
The Star Department,
Jeru the Damaja,
Absolute Body Control,
Public Image Ltd.,
Erykah Badu,
Khruangbin,
Gong,
Amazonics,
Yusef Lateef,
U.S. Maple,
Mark Hollis,
Fat Boys,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Visage,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Soft Machine,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Smiths,
A Certain Ratio,
Monks,
Camouflage,
Jimmy McGriff,
Cheater Slicks,
Country Teasers,
In Retrospect,
Young Marble Giants,
The Alarm Clocks,
Das Ding,
Tomorrow,
the Human League,
Public Enemy,
Accadde A,
Wire, Wire, Wire, Wire.
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.