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 Poland and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 The Neon Judgement to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 John Foxx. All the underground hits.
All The Golliwogs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lafayette Afro Rock Band 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grandmaster Flash record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Y Pants,
Country Teasers,
The Selecter,
Reagan Youth,
Ronan,
Pole,
Zero Boys,
Monolake,
The Count Five,
Jacques Brel,
Tomorrow,
Deakin,
a-ha,
Rod Modell,
The Fugs,
Mary Jane Girls,
Arab on Radar,
Rapeman,
Camouflage,
Rekid,
Urselle,
Marvin Gaye,
Delta 5,
Brothers Johnson,
Aaron Thompson,
Skriet,
Spandau Ballet,
The Seeds,
Young Marble Giants,
Johnny Clarke,
Hardrive,
DJ Style,
Alison Limerick,
The Five Americans,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Sonic Youth,
Mars,
Cymande,
the Normal,
Grey Daturas,
Circle Jerks,
Matthew Halsall,
The Durutti Column,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Detroit Cobras,
Ornette Coleman,
Bronski Beat,
The Standells,
Cal Tjader,
China Crisis,
Sight & Sound,
Altered Images,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Simply Red,
The Fall,
Stiv Bators,
Black Sheep,
Rites of Spring,
Hashim,
The Trojans,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Wake, The Wake, The Wake, The Wake.
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.