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 Burundi and from New York.
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 Tehran and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 clarinet 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 Radio Birdman to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Public Image Ltd.. All the underground hits.
All The Barracudas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Richard Hell and the Voidoids record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 spring reverb and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pantytec record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
The Pretty Things,
Lou Reed,
Carl Craig,
Kurtis Blow,
Barclay James Harvest,
Lindisfarne,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Sound,
Rosa Yemen,
Jeff Lynne,
Alphaville,
Terrestrial Tones,
H. Thieme,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Arcadia,
Quantec,
Patti Smith,
The Names,
Amazonics,
Pylon,
Rhythm & Sound,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Lalo Schifrin,
Quadrant,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Circle Jerks,
Black Bananas,
Talk Talk,
Angry Samoans,
The Slits,
The Last Poets,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
The Monks,
The Vogues,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Iggy Pop,
Blossom Toes,
Cal Tjader,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Dave Clark Five,
Dead Boys,
Metal Thangz,
Ponytail,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Nick Fraelich,
Kas Product,
Delta 5,
Jawbox,
The J.B.'s,
the Germs,
Trumans Water,
Ultra Naté,
Mary Jane Girls,
Bob Dylan,
Sarah Menescal,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Standells,
L. Decosne,
The Cramps,
The Blues Magoos,
Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox.
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.