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 Sierra Leone and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 The Fuzztones to the grime kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Country Teasers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Los Fastidios 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an oboe 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 chamberlin and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Unwound,
The Cure,
Rosa Yemen,
Byron Stingily,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Whodini,
Nation of Ulysses,
Young Marble Giants,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
R.M.O.,
Surgeon,
Slick Rick,
Pere Ubu,
The Happenings,
Leonard Cohen,
Los Fastidios,
The Fortunes,
Nico,
Camouflage,
Isaac Hayes,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Durutti Column,
The American Breed,
the Association,
Sex Pistols,
Royal Trux,
Boogie Down Productions,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Toasters,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Gun Club,
L. Decosne,
The Angels of Light,
Mad Mike,
The Index,
Dead Boys,
The Walker Brothers,
Tom Boy,
Theoretical Girls,
T. Rex,
Eric Dolphy,
Y Pants,
Lou Reed,
Faraquet,
Prince Buster,
The Detroit Cobras,
Gregory Isaacs,
Joyce Sims,
The Wake,
Excepter,
Carl Craig,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Motions,
New Age Steppers,
Symarip,
Funky Four + One,
Franke,
Idris Muhammad,
Gichy Dan,
The Birthday Party,
The Victims, The Victims, The Victims, The Victims.
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.