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 Guinea and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Gang Starr to the grime kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth. All the underground hits.
All Angry Samoans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nation of Ulysses 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terry Callier record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Pus,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Kinks,
Malaria!,
Clear Light,
The Shadows of Knight,
Sixth Finger,
Johnny Clarke,
Mo-Dettes,
Jacques Brel,
Pussy Galore,
New Order,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Rod Modell,
The Trojans,
Buzzcocks,
Metal Thangz,
Circle Jerks,
X-102,
The Sonics,
The Human League,
Pharoah Sanders,
Cameo,
Anthony Braxton,
Darondo,
Index,
Pierre Henry,
The Star Department,
Rekid,
One Last Wish,
Cheater Slicks,
Alton Ellis,
Kerrie Biddell,
Ultra Naté,
Liliput,
B.T. Express,
Magma,
Jeru the Damaja,
Joensuu 1685,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The American Breed,
Rotary Connection,
Derrick May,
The Alarm Clocks,
Vainqueur,
Thee Headcoats,
Soul II Soul,
The Neon Judgement,
The Flesh Eaters,
Gang Starr,
F. McDonald,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Excepter,
Agent Orange,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Modern Lovers,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Kool Moe Dee,
Jeff Mills,
Porter Ricks,
Vladislav Delay,
The Fall,
Yazoo, Yazoo, Yazoo, Yazoo.
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.