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 South Sudan and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 mellotron 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 Deadbeat to the funk 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 Ronnie Foster. All the underground hits.
All Eric B and Rakim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rufus Thomas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a snare 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 808 and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Black Dice,
The Names,
The Toasters,
Camouflage,
the Fania All-Stars,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Wolf Eyes,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Mars,
Joensuu 1685,
The Smoke,
Jeru the Damaja,
Con Funk Shun,
Organ,
Steve Hackett,
Angry Samoans,
Peter & Gordon,
A Certain Ratio,
Darondo,
The Seeds,
Minnie Riperton,
John Coltrane,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Gang of Four,
Roxette,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Chrome,
The United States of America,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Connie Case,
The Birthday Party,
Quantec,
Pere Ubu,
Marcia Griffiths,
John Holt,
Howard Jones,
John Lydon,
Cecil Taylor,
Severed Heads,
Hashim,
Colin Newman,
Harpers Bizarre,
Kurtis Blow,
Delta 5,
Kas Product,
Man Parrish,
The Wake,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Leonard Cohen,
Bluetip,
Underground Resistance,
Morten Harket,
Bob Dylan,
E-Dancer,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Tim Buckley,
Joy Division,
Cymande,
The Vogues,
Bobby Sherman,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.