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 Manchester.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Liliput to the techno kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Agent Orange. All the underground hits.
All Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roxy Music record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Wake,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Tommy Roe,
Bluetip,
Procol Harum,
Half Japanese,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Rakim,
the Normal,
Organ,
DJ Sneak,
Tim Buckley,
The Tremeloes,
The Pretty Things,
Make Up,
Marmalade,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Mojo Men,
Essential Logic,
the Germs,
Simply Red,
Juan Atkins,
Chris Corsano,
Slick Rick,
The Young Rascals,
The Misunderstood,
June of 44,
Crispy Ambulance,
Fatback Band,
Althea and Donna,
Deakin,
Lower 48,
Idris Muhammad,
David Axelrod,
Sun City Girls,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Joyce Sims,
Soul II Soul,
Audionom,
Prince Buster,
Gerry Rafferty,
Eric Copeland,
Amazonics,
Jeff Mills,
Livin' Joy,
Lebanon Hanover,
Camouflage,
Symarip,
Glenn Branca,
The Five Americans,
Kerrie Biddell,
Eden Ahbez,
The Smiths,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
ABC,
Ice-T,
Quando Quango,
Radiopuhelimet,
Maurizio, Maurizio, Maurizio, Maurizio.
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.