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 Peru and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Joe Finger to the rap kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. All the underground hits.
All Kerrie Biddell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bob Dylan record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Hoover,
Severed Heads,
Brick,
the Normal,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Yellowson,
Los Fastidios,
Wally Richardson,
Duran Duran,
Heaven 17,
The Neon Judgement,
Panda Bear,
Joy Division,
Sparks,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Scion,
Young Marble Giants,
Sugar Minott,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bluetip,
Oblivians,
Procol Harum,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Jawbox,
The United States of America,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
the Association,
The Pop Group,
Blancmange,
Bobby Sherman,
Qualms,
Bobby Byrd,
Television,
Suburban Knight,
The Dead C,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Desert Stars,
Juan Atkins,
Dawn Penn,
Davy DMX,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Rakim,
Index,
Max Romeo,
Motorama,
Depeche Mode,
Echospace,
Eric Copeland,
Agent Orange,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Ultravox,
Fluxion,
Minutemen,
Wire,
Popol Vuh,
Adolescents,
Gong,
Minnie Riperton,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft, Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft, Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft, Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft.
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.