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 Bangladesh and from Mexico City.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Mumbai.
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 clarinet 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 Gian Franco Pienzio to the grunge 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 The United States of America. All the underground hits.
All Gang of Four tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeru the Damaja record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispian St. Peters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Minnie Riperton,
Laurel Aitken,
Yaz,
The Fortunes,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Black Sheep,
Yellowson,
Sight & Sound,
Fela Kuti,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Sun Ra,
Curtis Mayfield,
Moby Grape,
The Fuzztones,
Sex Pistols,
Alison Limerick,
Big Daddy Kane,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Trojans,
a-ha,
Rufus Thomas,
Barry Ungar,
Black Moon,
Quadrant,
Lightning Bolt,
F. McDonald,
B.T. Express,
Funky Four + One,
Fugazi,
DJ Sneak,
Aural Exciters,
Mission of Burma,
The Moody Blues,
Prince Buster,
The Young Rascals,
Isaac Hayes,
The Index,
Carl Craig,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Deadbeat,
The New Christs,
The Golliwogs,
Visage,
Stiv Bators,
The Real Kids,
Radiohead,
Albert Ayler,
Sun City Girls,
Anthony Braxton,
Neu!,
The Evens,
David McCallum,
48th St. Collective,
Groovy Waters,
The Velvet Underground,
The Dead C,
Outsiders,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
June of 44, June of 44, June of 44, June of 44.
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.