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 Samoa and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the oboe 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 Flesh Eaters to the grime 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 Iggy Pop. All the underground hits.
All Steve Hackett tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang Starr 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sam Rivers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Supertramp,
Minutemen,
The Smiths,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Morten Harket,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
the Germs,
Quantec,
Sonny Sharrock,
Zero Boys,
The Seeds,
Cymande,
Animal Collective,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Magma,
Todd Rundgren,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Blackbyrds,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Tim Buckley,
Patti Smith,
June of 44,
The Fortunes,
Janne Schatter,
Magazine,
Negative Approach,
Pierre Henry,
The Monks,
Pussy Galore,
Wire,
Surgeon,
Prince Buster,
Severed Heads,
Henry Cow,
the Human League,
Zapp,
Robert Hood,
Crime,
Al Stewart,
Lungfish,
Amon Düül II,
Banda Bassotti,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Monolake,
Camouflage,
H. Thieme,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The New Christs,
Aural Exciters,
Public Enemy,
Lindisfarne,
Kool Moe Dee,
X-Ray Spex,
Sound Behaviour,
Marc Almond,
Skarface,
The Beau Brummels,
Joey Negro,
Fatback Band,
The Count Five,
Mo-Dettes,
Saccharine Trust,
Pole, Pole, Pole, Pole.
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.