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 Bulgaria and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 spring reverb 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 Stockholm Monsters to the disco 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 Organ. All the underground hits.
All Strawberry Alarm Clock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barrington Levy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a PIL record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wally Richardson,
Prince Buster,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Andrew Hill,
the Bar-Kays,
These Immortal Souls,
Minnie Riperton,
Bootsy Collins,
The Young Rascals,
Ludus,
Lightning Bolt,
Bill Near,
Barclay James Harvest,
Loose Ends,
Roxette,
Boredoms,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Sun Ra,
Warsaw,
Carl Craig,
Eurythmics,
Piero Umiliani,
Buzzcocks,
Donald Byrd,
Youth Brigade,
Flamin' Groovies,
Iggy Pop,
Tropical Tobacco,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Swans,
Boz Scaggs,
K-Klass,
Blossom Toes,
John Holt,
Depeche Mode,
Al Stewart,
John Foxx,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Junior Murvin,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Erasure,
Absolute Body Control,
the Swans,
Franke,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Electric Prunes,
the Germs,
Tubeway Army,
Y Pants,
Mandrill,
Panda Bear,
The Grass Roots,
Anakelly,
Sam Rivers,
Jimmy McGriff,
Mr. Review,
Shoche,
Pussy Galore,
Second Layer,
Niagra,
The Offenders,
Shuggie Otis,
Aural Exciters,
The United States of America,
Beasts of Bourbon, Beasts of Bourbon, Beasts of Bourbon, Beasts of Bourbon.
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.