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 Barbados and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 Tom Verlaine 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 Eric Dolphy to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson. All the underground hits.
All Thee Headcoats tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band 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 sitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Arab on Radar record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suburban Knight,
Sex Pistols,
New York Dolls,
Marmalade,
the Swans,
Sonic Youth,
Big Daddy Kane,
L. Decosne,
Unrelated Segments,
Suicide,
Danielle Patucci,
Surgeon,
Jimmy McGriff,
X-101,
The Modern Lovers,
Television Personalities,
The Selecter,
Soft Cell,
Rapeman,
The Walker Brothers,
The Gladiators,
T.S.O.L.,
Bang On A Can,
the Bar-Kays,
Silicon Teens,
The Raincoats,
The Busters,
David Bowie,
Swell Maps,
The Victims,
The American Breed,
Roy Ayers,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Newcleus,
Shuggie Otis,
The Buckinghams,
the Fania All-Stars,
Supertramp,
Sandy B,
Nik Kershaw,
Man Parrish,
Chris & Cosey,
Wally Richardson,
Lindisfarne,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Deepchord,
Toni Rubio,
Magazine,
The Residents,
Kenny Larkin,
Grandmaster Flash,
Sugar Minott,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Jeff Lynne,
Matthew Bourne,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Basic Channel,
Heaven 17,
Rites of Spring,
Amazonics,
Saccharine Trust,
DJ Style,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope.
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.