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 Portugal and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 Captain Beefheart 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 Ajijia Myrayebe to the punk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Alice Coltrane. All the underground hits.
All Gian Franco Pienzio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Traffic Nightmare record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wings record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marmalade,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Yazoo,
Groovy Waters,
Jeru the Damaja,
Alton Ellis,
The Busters,
T. Rex,
Swans,
cv313,
Television,
Faust,
Marvin Gaye,
Electric Prunes,
Technova,
Lou Christie,
Public Image Ltd.,
Gil Scott Heron,
Fat Boys,
Heaven 17,
Pole,
The Offenders,
The Walker Brothers,
Depeche Mode,
Pantaleimon,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Slackers,
Eden Ahbez,
Eric Copeland,
Eve St. Jones,
Gong,
Hashim,
Y Pants,
Sly & The Family Stone,
the Bar-Kays,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Anthony Braxton,
Shuggie Otis,
Little Man,
James White and The Blacks,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Gories,
Japan,
Dark Day,
Pagans,
Bad Manners,
Curtis Mayfield,
Stetsasonic,
Hot Snakes,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Babytalk,
FM Einheit,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Music Machine,
10cc,
Sandy B,
John Holt,
Reuben Wilson,
The Standells,
John Lydon,
The Shadows of Knight, The Shadows of Knight, The Shadows of Knight, The Shadows of Knight.
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.