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 France and from Copenhagen.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro 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 DJ Sneak to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Lou Reed & Metallica. All the underground hits.
All The Slits tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Red Krayola record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a 808 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 theremin and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Heaven 17,
Wings,
Jacob Miller,
The New Christs,
The Moody Blues,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Music Machine,
Warsaw,
Arthur Verocai,
D'Angelo,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Niagra,
Eric Copeland,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Tim Buckley,
Janne Schatter,
The American Breed,
Rites of Spring,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Roxy Music,
Susan Cadogan,
T. Rex,
Thee Headcoats,
the Normal,
Franke,
Whodini,
The Misunderstood,
Donald Byrd,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Public Enemy,
Jeru the Damaja,
Don Cherry,
Banda Bassotti,
the Swans,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Deadbeat,
Gabor Szabo,
Skriet,
Marvin Gaye,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Hardrive,
Blancmange,
Dual Sessions,
Yellowson,
Faust,
Wire,
Malaria!,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Bill Wells,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Five Americans,
Simply Red,
Rod Modell,
Lindisfarne,
Hashim,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Rakim,
A Certain Ratio,
Mr. Review,
New York Dolls,
Visage,
Desert Stars,
Black Flag,
Lou Christie,
The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines.
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.