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 Brunei and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Heavy D & The Boyz to the rock 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 Blancmange. All the underground hits.
All The Fall tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Beasts of Bourbon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Seeds,
Pierre Henry,
Chris & Cosey,
Terry Callier,
Heaven 17,
John Coltrane,
Reuben Wilson,
Sonic Youth,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Lungfish,
Altered Images,
Crispy Ambulance,
Bobby Sherman,
Theoretical Girls,
Main Source,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Sixth Finger,
Fela Kuti,
Rekid,
Rosa Yemen,
Robert Hood,
Shuggie Otis,
Joey Negro,
Brick,
The Martian,
Eddi Front,
Girls At Our Best!,
Alison Limerick,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Liliput,
New Order,
Magma,
Public Enemy,
Throbbing Gristle,
Groovy Waters,
Radiopuhelimet,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Sam Rivers,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Barclay James Harvest,
Porter Ricks,
8 Eyed Spy,
Ultravox,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Gun Club,
Sister Nancy,
Duran Duran,
The Real Kids,
Masters at Work,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Eden Ahbez,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Little Man,
Country Teasers,
Steve Hackett,
Motorama,
Tres Demented,
Soulsonic Force,
Gang Gang Dance,
Derrick Morgan,
Boz Scaggs,
Idris Muhammad,
Freddie Wadling,
Grandmaster Flash,
Cymande, Cymande, Cymande, Cymande.
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.