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 Rwanda and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Blossom Toes to the disco 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 Silicon Teens. All the underground hits.
All New Age Steppers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sad Lovers and Giants 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Warren Ellis,
Soulsonic Force,
Black Moon,
Gong,
Nils Olav,
Peter & Gordon,
Echospace,
Skaos,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Marc Almond,
B.T. Express,
Organ,
Von Mondo,
Sun Ra,
Aaron Thompson,
Royal Trux,
The Flesh Eaters,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Porter Ricks,
Godley & Creme,
Desert Stars,
Prince Buster,
Aswad,
The Evens,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Marvin Gaye,
The Cramps,
Kenny Larkin,
Joensuu 1685,
Ossler,
Japan,
Joe Finger,
Anthony Braxton,
Alice Coltrane,
Oneida,
Qualms,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Busters,
Newcleus,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Birthday Party,
Jandek,
The Names,
Siglo XX,
Robert Hood,
Cluster,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Idris Muhammad,
The Blues Magoos,
Peter and Kerry,
Mandrill,
Yazoo,
Fat Boys,
Young Marble Giants,
Leonard Cohen,
Malaria!,
Motorama,
Buzzcocks,
Swell Maps,
X-101,
Jimmy McGriff,
China Crisis, China Crisis, China Crisis, China Crisis.
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.