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 Nauru and from Tehran.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Dirtbombs to the funk 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 Au Pairs. All the underground hits.
All Aswad tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every B.T. Express record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Prince Buster record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fugs,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Rod Modell,
the Germs,
Y Pants,
Hasil Adkins,
Sex Pistols,
The Raincoats,
Kool Moe Dee,
Todd Rundgren,
These Immortal Souls,
Quando Quango,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Gil Scott Heron,
Thee Headcoats,
Lyres,
Pole,
Animal Collective,
Tom Boy,
Prince Buster,
Spoonie Gee,
Kenny Larkin,
Robert Hood,
Aural Exciters,
Gabor Szabo,
Skriet,
Colin Newman,
Fifty Foot Hose,
John Holt,
Boogie Down Productions,
Inner City,
Eddi Front,
Bobby Byrd,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Stiv Bators,
This Heat,
The Evens,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Gang Gang Dance,
Con Funk Shun,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Monks,
Donny Hathaway,
The Pop Group,
Oblivians,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
JFA,
Sonny Sharrock,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Bauhaus,
Saccharine Trust,
Depeche Mode,
Man Parrish,
AZ,
10cc,
R.M.O.,
DJ Sneak,
The Dave Clark Five,
Jeru the Damaja,
Erasure,
Alison Limerick, Alison Limerick, Alison Limerick, Alison Limerick.
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.