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 Marshall Islands and from Houston.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Bremen.
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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Fluxion to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 James White and The Blacks. All the underground hits.
All Alison Limerick tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gabor Szabo record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 an oboe and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Angels of Light record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rites of Spring,
The Residents,
Ohio Players,
The Fire Engines,
Ornette Coleman,
Minny Pops,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Unrelated Segments,
Nirvana,
The Dirtbombs,
Boogie Down Productions,
Warsaw,
Nik Kershaw,
Traffic Nightmare,
Amazonics,
Barrington Levy,
Robert Görl,
Trumans Water,
Ituana,
Japan,
Swans,
Bauhaus,
Zero Boys,
Brand Nubian,
Wasted Youth,
Joey Negro,
Con Funk Shun,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Divine Comedy,
Kerrie Biddell,
the Association,
Pylon,
Little Man,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Buckinghams,
Glenn Branca,
Rotary Connection,
Scott Walker,
AZ,
Bobby Womack,
Kayak,
David Bowie,
Grandmaster Flash,
Nation of Ulysses,
Gang Green,
Aloha Tigers,
H. Thieme,
The Stooges,
Bronski Beat,
Eric B and Rakim,
Pole,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Monolake,
Aaron Thompson,
The Birthday Party,
Pussy Galore,
Josef K,
Avey Tare,
Sonic Youth,
Bluetip,
The Motions,
Make Up, Make Up, Make Up, Make Up.
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.