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 Somalia and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Camberwell Now to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Black Moon. All the underground hits.
All Eyeless In Gaza tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every K-Klass record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
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 H. Thieme record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Gladiators,
Barrington Levy,
Aural Exciters,
Barry Ungar,
Schoolly D,
Erasure,
Porter Ricks,
Ronan,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Main Source,
The Blues Magoos,
Lucky Dragons,
The Smoke,
The Seeds,
Pharoah Sanders,
Kerrie Biddell,
Crispian St. Peters,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Misunderstood,
Jeru the Damaja,
Inner City,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Massinfluence,
John Lydon,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
L. Decosne,
Marshall Jefferson,
Rites of Spring,
The Vogues,
The Last Poets,
Terrestrial Tones,
Rotary Connection,
Unwound,
Shuggie Otis,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Malaria!,
H. Thieme,
The Skatalites,
Rekid,
New Order,
Crispy Ambulance,
Deadbeat,
Stockholm Monsters,
Kas Product,
Oblivians,
The Pretty Things,
The United States of America,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
the Soft Cell,
Dawn Penn,
The Electric Prunes,
Crooked Eye,
the Germs,
Todd Rundgren,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Wally Richardson,
Monolake,
Marmalade,
Alice Coltrane,
The Sonics,
Lakeside,
Pierre Henry,
Nirvana, Nirvana, Nirvana, Nirvana.
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.