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 Guinea and from Sao Paulo.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 Tom Verlaine 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 Slits to the dance kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 The Walker Brothers. All the underground hits.
All Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scott Walker + Sunn O))) record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Durutti Column,
Average White Band,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Smiths,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Doors,
Rapeman,
Yazoo,
Ronnie Foster,
Moby Grape,
Frankie Knuckles,
KRS-One,
Grey Daturas,
Tears for Fears,
Maleditus Sound,
Man Eating Sloth,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Roxy Music,
Desert Stars,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Tropical Tobacco,
the Human League,
Pylon,
Ponytail,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Sixth Finger,
Aaron Thompson,
Gerry Rafferty,
Bobby Sherman,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Moleskins,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Johnny Osbourne,
Y Pants,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Hashim,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Mo-Dettes,
The Dave Clark Five,
New Age Steppers,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Nick Fraelich,
Henry Cow,
The Raincoats,
Bush Tetras,
Crispy Ambulance,
Chris & Cosey,
Brand Nubian,
Crash Course in Science,
Johnny Clarke,
The New Christs,
Joy Division,
Thee Headcoats,
Crooked Eye,
48th St. Collective,
Vainqueur,
Eli Mardock,
The Gap Band, The Gap Band, The Gap Band, The Gap Band.
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.