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 United States and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 arpeggiator 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 Sexual Harrassment 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 Scientists. All the underground hits.
All FM Einheit tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobbi Humphrey record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Freddie Wadling,
Desert Stars,
The Victims,
Yellowson,
Brand Nubian,
ABBA,
Index,
Wolf Eyes,
Warsaw,
LL Cool J,
The Dead C,
Theoretical Girls,
Boredoms,
Gabor Szabo,
Arcadia,
Oneida,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Dirtbombs,
Marc Almond,
X-102,
Black Moon,
Mad Mike,
Black Pus,
Marine Girls,
Piero Umiliani,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Stetsasonic,
The Divine Comedy,
Gichy Dan,
Dennis Brown,
R.M.O.,
Aural Exciters,
Marcia Griffiths,
Kerri Chandler,
Cluster,
Radio Birdman,
In Retrospect,
World's Most,
Fear,
DNA,
Man Eating Sloth,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Davy DMX,
Moss Icon,
Make Up,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Knickerbockers,
Minnie Riperton,
Hoover,
The Trojans,
Bootsy Collins,
Ten City,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Lyres,
Symarip,
Josef K,
Shuggie Otis,
Curtis Mayfield,
Skriet,
Robert Hood,
Harry Pussy,
The Doobie Brothers,
Todd Rundgren, Todd Rundgren, Todd Rundgren, Todd Rundgren.
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.