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 Cameroon and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Copenhagen.
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 synthesizer 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 Heavy D & The Boyz to the funk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Make Up. All the underground hits.
All The Angels of Light tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Glenn Branca record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gil Scott Heron,
Ken Boothe,
Cluster,
D'Angelo,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Siglo XX,
James White and The Blacks,
Chrome,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Marshall Jefferson,
La Düsseldorf,
Brand Nubian,
The Music Machine,
Bobby Byrd,
Bobby Sherman,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Eddi Front,
Cymande,
The Gories,
Lungfish,
Can,
Blancmange,
Stereo Dub,
Organ,
Fugazi,
Sparks,
Sixth Finger,
Ossler,
Susan Cadogan,
The Evens,
Sugar Minott,
Hoover,
Ultimate Spinach,
Basic Channel,
Spoonie Gee,
The Knickerbockers,
the Soft Cell,
Glenn Branca,
Black Sheep,
Clear Light,
Nation of Ulysses,
Peter & Gordon,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Mars,
8 Eyed Spy,
X-102,
Supertramp,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
John Coltrane,
Bronski Beat,
Crispian St. Peters,
ABBA,
Half Japanese,
Anthony Braxton,
Funky Four + One,
Lindisfarne,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
DNA,
Gerry Rafferty,
Youth Brigade,
The Slits,
The Martian,
Sarah Menescal,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, Teenage Jesus and the Jerks.
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.