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 Barbados and from Philadelphia.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Tears for Fears to the grime 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 The Blues Magoos. All the underground hits.
All Crash Course in Science tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hot Snakes 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans 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?
Throbbing Gristle,
Cybotron,
Television,
Japan,
Basic Channel,
The Grass Roots,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Todd Terry,
Bang On A Can,
Y Pants,
The Standells,
Soft Cell,
Johnny Clarke,
Jeff Lynne,
Godley & Creme,
Sun Ra,
Joe Finger,
Hoover,
New Order,
Kayak,
The Fall,
Q and Not U,
Public Image Ltd.,
Suburban Knight,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Pet Shop Boys,
Judy Mowatt,
Gastr Del Sol,
Ohio Players,
Rufus Thomas,
The Martian,
Marshall Jefferson,
Tomorrow,
Can,
The Neon Judgement,
Traffic Nightmare,
Agent Orange,
The Divine Comedy,
Khruangbin,
Warsaw,
The Cure,
Dorothy Ashby,
Stiv Bators,
Vladislav Delay,
Livin' Joy,
Nik Kershaw,
Mission of Burma,
Bronski Beat,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Trumans Water,
OOIOO,
Faust,
Gang of Four,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Skatalites,
Johnny Osbourne,
Crispy Ambulance,
the Germs,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Albert Ayler,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Tears for Fears,
Pantaleimon,
Mandrill, Mandrill, Mandrill, Mandrill.
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.