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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Lyon.
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 sitar 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 Youth Brigade to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Inner City. All the underground hits.
All Unrelated Segments tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 an arpeggiator and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Big Daddy Kane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sugar Minott,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Red Krayola,
Y Pants,
Thee Headcoats,
Little Man,
Sarah Menescal,
Reuben Wilson,
Crispy Ambulance,
Rapeman,
Trumans Water,
Darondo,
the Slits,
Rotary Connection,
Jacques Brel,
Suicide,
a-ha,
Infiniti,
Rhythm & Sound,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Bizarre Inc.,
Cal Tjader,
Nas,
Bill Wells,
Pierre Henry,
Black Bananas,
Lungfish,
Organ,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Howard Jones,
Cheater Slicks,
Jeru the Damaja,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Radio Birdman,
Pharoah Sanders,
These Immortal Souls,
Youth Brigade,
X-102,
Mad Mike,
Jawbox,
Bauhaus,
Quantec,
The Leaves,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
John Cale,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Visage,
Public Enemy,
Skaos,
Ultra Naté,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Sällskapet,
Guru Guru,
Kool Moe Dee,
Man Eating Sloth,
Dave Gahan,
Fat Boys,
Grey Daturas,
cv313,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Bang On A Can, Bang On A Can, Bang On A Can, Bang On A Can.
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.