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 Sri Lanka and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 techno 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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog. All the underground hits.
All Agent Orange tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Johnny Clarke record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 snare and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Move record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pharoah Sanders,
Hot Snakes,
Barclay James Harvest,
Aaron Thompson,
Guru Guru,
Faust,
the Normal,
The Selecter,
The Associates,
The Music Machine,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Dawn Penn,
Max Romeo,
Severed Heads,
Half Japanese,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Invisible,
Kaleidoscope,
The Smoke,
Nirvana,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Victims,
Lyres,
Carl Craig,
Can,
Tom Boy,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Skatalites,
Lee Hazlewood,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
the Fania All-Stars,
Slick Rick,
Matthew Halsall,
Mr. Review,
Lower 48,
Kool Moe Dee,
Saccharine Trust,
Dual Sessions,
Bobby Byrd,
Jerry's Kids,
The Litter,
The Toasters,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Nils Olav,
The Sound,
Gastr Del Sol,
Sixth Finger,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Detroit Cobras,
Eden Ahbez,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
the Bar-Kays,
Ituana,
Albert Ayler,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Tubeway Army,
David McCallum,
Aloha Tigers,
China Crisis, China Crisis, China Crisis, China Crisis.
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.