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 Libya and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 spring reverb 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 Bush Tetras to the disco kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Robert Görl. All the underground hits.
All Siouxsie and the Banshees tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The New Christs 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
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 Yaz record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scion,
Amon Düül,
Grauzone,
The Litter,
The Music Machine,
Shoche,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
John Coltrane,
Cybotron,
Bobby Sherman,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Wasted Youth,
Public Image Ltd.,
Cal Tjader,
Throbbing Gristle,
Ohio Players,
Goldenarms,
Von Mondo,
Bluetip,
Pussy Galore,
Rakim,
The Smiths,
Vainqueur,
Gang Green,
the Association,
Loose Ends,
Hardrive,
The J.B.'s,
Spandau Ballet,
Kas Product,
The Gun Club,
The Move,
Gong,
Soft Cell,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Patti Smith,
The Associates,
Black Pus,
Mission of Burma,
Lee Hazlewood,
Lyres,
John Holt,
The Raincoats,
Man Parrish,
Wings,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Drexciya,
Toni Rubio,
Rapeman,
Juan Atkins,
The Searchers,
Mars,
a-ha,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Blues Magoos,
8 Eyed Spy,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Bob Dylan,
Los Fastidios,
Jesper Dahlback,
Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre, Harpers Bizarre.
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.