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 Ethiopia and from Houston.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Cairo.
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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the güiro 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 Wolf Eyes to the rock kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Techniques. All the underground hits.
All The Searchers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Royal Family And The Poor 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tres Demented record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bauhaus,
Marmalade,
Eden Ahbez,
Lou Reed,
Barclay James Harvest,
X-Ray Spex,
Unwound,
Popol Vuh,
Erykah Badu,
the Human League,
The Busters,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Scientists,
the Fania All-Stars,
Simply Red,
June of 44,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Das Ding,
The Moleskins,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Brass Construction,
Soft Cell,
Franke,
The Index,
Tubeway Army,
Robert Wyatt,
Skaos,
Excepter,
Barbara Tucker,
Masters at Work,
Leonard Cohen,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Sällskapet,
Mandrill,
Black Bananas,
Spandau Ballet,
Moebius,
The Real Kids,
Porter Ricks,
Mr. Review,
Patti Smith,
Pylon,
The Slackers,
Ken Boothe,
Kerrie Biddell,
Lower 48,
Pulsallama,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Tropical Tobacco,
Faraquet,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Whodini,
The Kinks,
Black Pus,
Sparks,
Wasted Youth,
The Leaves, The Leaves, The Leaves, The Leaves.
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.