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 Korea South and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 synthesizer 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 Flipper to the grime 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 Notorious Big And Bone Thugs. All the underground hits.
All This Heat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Mojo Men record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lyres,
Crispy Ambulance,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
John Coltrane,
Echospace,
Davy DMX,
Fela Kuti,
E-Dancer,
Magma,
New York Dolls,
The Fuzztones,
Arcadia,
Lindisfarne,
Al Stewart,
Rosa Yemen,
Tomorrow,
The Black Dice,
Nico,
Underground Resistance,
Charles Mingus,
Stiv Bators,
John Foxx,
Amon Düül II,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Donald Byrd,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Howard Jones,
Duran Duran,
Robert Wyatt,
The Gap Band,
The Gories,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Gladiators,
The Modern Lovers,
Crooked Eye,
Urselle,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Camouflage,
Babytalk,
Roy Ayers,
Piero Umiliani,
Crash Course in Science,
Sonny Sharrock,
Amon Düül,
Simply Red,
The Tremeloes,
Kaleidoscope,
The Smoke,
Arthur Verocai,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Scott Walker,
Motorama,
Soft Cell,
Dawn Penn,
Terrestrial Tones,
Fad Gadget,
Henry Cow,
The Smiths,
Supertramp,
Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig.
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.