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 Kyrgyzstan and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 rhodes 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 The Gladiators to the electroclash 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 The United States of America. All the underground hits.
All Malaria! tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every ABC record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sällskapet record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
DJ Style,
Ultra Naté,
Unwound,
Nick Fraelich,
Suburban Knight,
Gichy Dan,
Chris Corsano,
Half Japanese,
Aaron Thompson,
Deakin,
Cecil Taylor,
Delon & Dalcan,
Soft Machine,
D'Angelo,
Fear,
The Pretty Things,
Maleditus Sound,
Qualms,
EPMD,
Davy DMX,
Arthur Verocai,
Ossler,
Audionom,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Moby Grape,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Carl Craig,
Black Moon,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Thee Headcoats,
Rufus Thomas,
Pole,
Kerri Chandler,
The Saints,
Mary Jane Girls,
Khruangbin,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Youth Brigade,
The Evens,
Hashim,
Wire,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Durutti Column,
Lyres,
Moebius,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Index,
Malaria!,
Sun Ra,
the Normal,
Sex Pistols,
Public Enemy,
The Smoke,
Jacques Brel,
Robert Wyatt,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Avey Tare,
48th St. Collective,
Black Bananas,
Young Marble Giants,
The Slackers,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch.
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.