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 Morocco and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 arpeggiator 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 New Age Steppers to the techno 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 Severed Heads. All the underground hits.
All PIL tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Brass Construction record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 guitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funkadelic record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crime,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Kenny Larkin,
The Monks,
Nirvana,
Jimmy McGriff,
Delta 5,
Scrapy,
Jacques Brel,
Aaron Thompson,
The Saints,
Wally Richardson,
Los Fastidios,
Swans,
Robert Hood,
Organ,
The New Christs,
John Holt,
Angry Samoans,
Erasure,
Deakin,
the Normal,
Popol Vuh,
Bizarre Inc.,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Minnie Riperton,
Black Moon,
Masters at Work,
Procol Harum,
Adolescents,
The Last Poets,
Tropical Tobacco,
Saccharine Trust,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Ludus,
The Detroit Cobras,
Arab on Radar,
Skarface,
Steve Hackett,
Gichy Dan,
Brick,
Skaos,
Amon Düül,
Terry Callier,
Ken Boothe,
Black Sheep,
The Five Americans,
DJ Style,
The Dead C,
Piero Umiliani,
John Coltrane,
Mantronix,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Todd Terry,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Alarm Clocks,
the Bar-Kays,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Girls At Our Best!,
Slave, Slave, Slave, Slave.
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.