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 Bangladesh and from Accra.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Byron Stingily to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All The Cowsills tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Henry Cow 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Beasts of Bourbon,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Bizarre Inc.,
Al Stewart,
Sex Pistols,
Vladislav Delay,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Slits,
Dark Day,
Hasil Adkins,
The Star Department,
The Mummies,
Sun City Girls,
Metal Thangz,
The Wake,
The Music Machine,
ABC,
Cheater Slicks,
Unwound,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Sonny Sharrock,
Marmalade,
The Smiths,
Fugazi,
Subhumans,
Robert Görl,
Suicide,
Gichy Dan,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Harpers Bizarre,
Carl Craig,
Nik Kershaw,
The Fuzztones,
Ornette Coleman,
Livin' Joy,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Graham Central Station,
Neu!,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Black Sheep,
Gang Gang Dance,
Nation of Ulysses,
Trumans Water,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Swans,
The Evens,
Mars,
New York Dolls,
Kevin Saunderson,
JFA,
Piero Umiliani,
Oblivians,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Brand Nubian,
Gang Starr,
Matthew Halsall,
David McCallum,
Roger Hodgson,
Slave,
Depeche Mode,
Big Daddy Kane, Big Daddy Kane, Big Daddy Kane, Big Daddy Kane.
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.