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 Ecuador and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Franke to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Electric Light Orchestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Das Ding 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Johnny Clarke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sister Nancy,
Donny Hathaway,
Crispian St. Peters,
Blancmange,
the Soft Cell,
The Real Kids,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Aloha Tigers,
Wasted Youth,
Deadbeat,
Urselle,
The Toasters,
ABBA,
ABC,
Make Up,
Colin Newman,
The Moleskins,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Average White Band,
Black Bananas,
Rufus Thomas,
Patti Smith,
The J.B.'s,
Ultra Naté,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Durutti Column,
Goldenarms,
The Fortunes,
New Order,
Deakin,
Radiohead,
Procol Harum,
Amon Düül II,
Kerri Chandler,
Moss Icon,
CMW,
Ossler,
Stockholm Monsters,
Yusef Lateef,
Wally Richardson,
The Monks,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Frankie Knuckles,
Throbbing Gristle,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Arab on Radar,
Pierre Henry,
JFA,
Peter and Kerry,
Sixth Finger,
Animal Collective,
Barclay James Harvest,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Deepchord,
Rites of Spring,
Soulsonic Force,
Smog,
the Human League,
The Leaves,
The Electric Prunes,
the Swans,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs.
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.