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 Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Sixth Finger to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 New Christs. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jandek record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sällskapet record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ossler,
Colin Newman,
Scott Walker,
DJ Style,
Camouflage,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Walker Brothers,
Crooked Eye,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
June Days,
Desert Stars,
Massinfluence,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Byron Stingily,
Man Eating Sloth,
Livin' Joy,
Henry Cow,
Drexciya,
Aloha Tigers,
Robert Wyatt,
The Detroit Cobras,
Technova,
London Community Gospel Choir,
the Human League,
Liliput,
Zero Boys,
Nick Fraelich,
Angry Samoans,
Arab on Radar,
Dark Day,
Ultimate Spinach,
Pharoah Sanders,
Popol Vuh,
Neil Young,
Ponytail,
Marcia Griffiths,
Wire,
Sugar Minott,
The Pretty Things,
Boz Scaggs,
Gichy Dan,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Jawbox,
Moebius,
8 Eyed Spy,
Joy Division,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Motorama,
Das Ding,
The Leaves,
EPMD,
Junior Murvin,
Camberwell Now,
Funkadelic,
Minnie Riperton,
Archie Shepp,
Y Pants,
Urselle,
Gastr Del Sol,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Neu!,
The Vogues,
Crime, Crime, Crime, Crime.
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.