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 Korea South and from Lyon.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Terry Callier to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Amon Düül II. All the underground hits.
All Faust tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Buckinghams record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Hutcherson,
F. McDonald,
Barry Ungar,
Darondo,
H. Thieme,
Aaron Thompson,
Sun City Girls,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The United States of America,
Glenn Branca,
Ludus,
Schoolly D,
The Seeds,
Television Personalities,
The Fortunes,
These Immortal Souls,
Cal Tjader,
The Remains,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Funkadelic,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
the Fania All-Stars,
Mad Mike,
Terry Callier,
a-ha,
Neil Young,
Delon & Dalcan,
Unwound,
Ronnie Foster,
Eve St. Jones,
Make Up,
Loose Ends,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Monolake,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Bluetip,
Infiniti,
Japan,
Joey Negro,
Talk Talk,
T. Rex,
Eddi Front,
It's A Beautiful Day,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Kool Moe Dee,
Skaos,
Gastr Del Sol,
Scratch Acid,
Slick Rick,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Motions,
MC5,
Scrapy,
Bootsy Collins,
Thee Headcoats,
Howard Jones,
Sarah Menescal,
Toni Rubio, Toni Rubio, Toni Rubio, Toni Rubio.
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.