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 Tuvalu and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 clarinet 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 Cecil Taylor to the techno kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Notorious Big And Bone Thugs. All the underground hits.
All Radio Birdman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rosa Yemen record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Letta Mbulu record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Maurizio,
Organ,
Rod Modell,
Marc Almond,
The Saints,
Alphaville,
Throbbing Gristle,
Scrapy,
Cymande,
X-102,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Divine Comedy,
Cecil Taylor,
Boz Scaggs,
The Slackers,
Mandrill,
Make Up,
Masters at Work,
Basic Channel,
Warren Ellis,
Sight & Sound,
Davy DMX,
Suburban Knight,
Neu!,
cv313,
Marmalade,
Donny Hathaway,
The Cure,
Rosa Yemen,
Young Marble Giants,
Neil Young,
The Kinks,
ABC,
The Misunderstood,
Lalann,
Lyres,
Flamin' Groovies,
Patti Smith,
Index,
Ornette Coleman,
Girls At Our Best!,
Suicide,
Hasil Adkins,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Technova,
Colin Newman,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Derrick May,
Glambeats Corp.,
Mo-Dettes,
Fad Gadget,
The Fortunes,
Aswad,
The Fugs,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Surgeon,
Radiopuhelimet,
Bob Dylan,
Loose Ends,
Sun Ra,
Crash Course in Science,
Sandy B,
Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division.
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.