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 Zambia and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Jeru the Damaja to the funk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Jesper Dahlbäck. All the underground hits.
All DeepChord presents Echospace tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Angry Samoans record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 a snare and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jimmy McGriff record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Iggy Pop,
Delta 5,
The Seeds,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Litter,
The Smoke,
Dorothy Ashby,
Faust,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Skarface,
Roxette,
Banda Bassotti,
The Cramps,
Fat Boys,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Drive Like Jehu,
Television,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Beasts of Bourbon,
New Age Steppers,
Frankie Knuckles,
the Germs,
Clear Light,
Bill Near,
Swans,
Minny Pops,
Tommy Roe,
Talk Talk,
Chris & Cosey,
The Sonics,
Black Bananas,
Michelle Simonal,
Saccharine Trust,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Gun Club,
Scratch Acid,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Donny Hathaway,
U.S. Maple,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Pharoah Sanders,
Crooked Eye,
Neil Young,
KRS-One,
The New Christs,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Severed Heads,
Wasted Youth,
Kenny Larkin,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Funkadelic,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Young Marble Giants,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Shuggie Otis,
The Young Rascals,
Qualms,
Eli Mardock,
The Trojans,
Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B.
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.