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 Panama and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 harpsichord 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 Skatalites to the electroclash kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Johnny Osbourne. All the underground hits.
All Monolake tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fad Gadget record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 mellotron and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Letta Mbulu record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nils Olav,
Bronski Beat,
Bluetip,
The Names,
Brick,
The Real Kids,
Camberwell Now,
Pagans,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Neon Judgement,
F. McDonald,
Crispian St. Peters,
Carl Craig,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Birthday Party,
Radio Birdman,
The Misunderstood,
Delta 5,
Fatback Band,
Hasil Adkins,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Banda Bassotti,
Soft Machine,
Terry Callier,
Cybotron,
Bobby Womack,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
the Soft Cell,
Ludus,
Malaria!,
Black Moon,
Simply Red,
Warsaw,
Metal Thangz,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Flamin' Groovies,
Moebius,
The Index,
Kurtis Blow,
Funky Four + One,
Organ,
Eddi Front,
Pantytec,
Albert Ayler,
Reuben Wilson,
Scott Walker,
Average White Band,
Letta Mbulu,
Magazine,
Hoover,
Sarah Menescal,
Swell Maps,
Faust,
Ponytail,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Ituana,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Rotary Connection,
Wire,
Wings, Wings, Wings, Wings.
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.