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 Senegal and from Glasgow.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Piero Umiliani to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Radio Birdman. All the underground hits.
All Freddie Wadling tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alphaville record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Interpol record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oblivians,
Angry Samoans,
Jacques Brel,
Warren Ellis,
Curtis Mayfield,
Ronnie Foster,
the Fania All-Stars,
Ornette Coleman,
Brand Nubian,
The Happenings,
Eric Copeland,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Arcadia,
The Names,
Radio Birdman,
Sex Pistols,
Accadde A,
Royal Trux,
Charles Mingus,
Cecil Taylor,
Television,
Swell Maps,
Buzzcocks,
Sandy B,
Siglo XX,
X-Ray Spex,
U.S. Maple,
Jandek,
The Smoke,
The Stooges,
Henry Cow,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Techniques,
Ice-T,
Severed Heads,
Joensuu 1685,
Kerri Chandler,
The Shadows of Knight,
Morten Harket,
The Angels of Light,
Easy Going,
Barrington Levy,
Mark Hollis,
Susan Cadogan,
Roxette,
AZ,
Banda Bassotti,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Skatalites,
the Bar-Kays,
Deadbeat,
Soft Cell,
Inner City,
Index,
Altered Images,
Fat Boys,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Cramps,
Steve Hackett,
Darondo,
DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak, DJ Sneak.
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.