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 Zambia and from Sao Paulo.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 harpsichord 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 Shuggie Otis to the crunk 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 Yellowson. All the underground hits.
All Drive Like Jehu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every James Chance & The Contortions 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masters at Work record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Moody Blues,
The Tremeloes,
Camberwell Now,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Buckinghams,
Erykah Badu,
The Sonics,
E-Dancer,
Mary Jane Girls,
Desert Stars,
Lightning Bolt,
Iggy Pop,
Animal Collective,
Das Ding,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Wasted Youth,
Symarip,
Marc Almond,
The Velvet Underground,
Bobby Sherman,
Johnny Clarke,
Alice Coltrane,
Lindisfarne,
Warsaw,
Circle Jerks,
Eve St. Jones,
Tropical Tobacco,
Gichy Dan,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Khruangbin,
Barclay James Harvest,
cv313,
Swans,
Matthew Bourne,
Cluster,
Deakin,
The Mummies,
Loose Ends,
Niagra,
Y Pants,
Pantytec,
Royal Trux,
Jeru the Damaja,
Joyce Sims,
Eli Mardock,
Gabor Szabo,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Sister Nancy,
Sex Pistols,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Girls At Our Best!,
Judy Mowatt,
The Smoke,
Babytalk,
Derrick May,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Gerry Rafferty,
Sarah Menescal,
The Sound,
Ronan,
Dead Boys,
Brand Nubian,
Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster.
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.