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 Moldova and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 Rites of Spring to the techno 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 Sly & The Family Stone. All the underground hits.
All Harry Pussy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tropical Tobacco 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Junior Murvin record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fat Boys,
Average White Band,
the Fania All-Stars,
Bobby Byrd,
Aloha Tigers,
The Tremeloes,
Anakelly,
The Pretty Things,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Black Sheep,
Subhumans,
Chris Corsano,
Colin Newman,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Fuzztones,
Rhythm & Sound,
Marshall Jefferson,
Circle Jerks,
Johnny Clarke,
Gastr Del Sol,
Excepter,
JFA,
Black Moon,
The Neon Judgement,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Throbbing Gristle,
Arcadia,
Nico,
Gerry Rafferty,
Michelle Simonal,
Basic Channel,
Model 500,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Scientists,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Scott Walker,
The Count Five,
Roxette,
Panda Bear,
Youth Brigade,
Tomorrow,
R.M.O.,
The American Breed,
Hardrive,
China Crisis,
Rod Modell,
Andrew Hill,
Ken Boothe,
Slave,
Eden Ahbez,
Jeff Lynne,
Electric Prunes,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Con Funk Shun,
Stereo Dub,
Henry Cow,
Isaac Hayes,
Cymande,
La Düsseldorf,
Von Mondo,
Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys.
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.