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 Singapore and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Durutti Column. All the underground hits.
All Grandmaster Flash tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Cure 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
B.T. Express,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Blues Magoos,
Y Pants,
The Electric Prunes,
Swans,
Echospace,
Carl Craig,
New Age Steppers,
Jacques Brel,
Sound Behaviour,
Silicon Teens,
Boredoms,
Bobby Byrd,
Theoretical Girls,
Quando Quango,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Wake,
Cybotron,
The Barracudas,
Audionom,
The Fire Engines,
Suburban Knight,
Altered Images,
Deakin,
Soulsonic Force,
Bush Tetras,
Warren Ellis,
Bob Dylan,
Babytalk,
Lou Reed,
Sonic Youth,
Urselle,
Sun Ra,
Man Parrish,
Eden Ahbez,
Neu!,
Gregory Isaacs,
Letta Mbulu,
Rod Modell,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Ultravox,
The Red Krayola,
Minny Pops,
Skarface,
Robert Wyatt,
Duran Duran,
Lou Christie,
Hoover,
The Cure,
Glenn Branca,
Lightning Bolt,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Black Pus,
Ken Boothe,
The Raincoats,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Make Up, Make Up, Make Up, Make Up.
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.