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 Solomon Islands and from Tokyo.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 harpsichord 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 Gang Starr to the techno 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 OOIOO tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alison Limerick 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Anakelly 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?
Harry Pussy,
Niagra,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Barry Ungar,
The Litter,
Brick,
Visage,
Ultimate Spinach,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Sarah Menescal,
Cecil Taylor,
the Sonics,
Freddie Wadling,
Theoretical Girls,
Black Pus,
Thompson Twins,
Gang Starr,
Lyres,
R.M.O.,
Dual Sessions,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
John Cale,
Janne Schatter,
Eve St. Jones,
Sandy B,
Avey Tare,
The Misunderstood,
Cybotron,
Eyeless In Gaza,
CMW,
Funky Four + One,
Black Flag,
a-ha,
LL Cool J,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Kayak,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Shuggie Otis,
Thee Headcoats,
Marine Girls,
Rapeman,
Eric Dolphy,
Banda Bassotti,
Ohio Players,
Surgeon,
Susan Cadogan,
Chrome,
Altered Images,
Fat Boys,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Rufus Thomas,
the Bar-Kays,
DJ Sneak,
B.T. Express,
Bad Manners,
the Normal,
Boz Scaggs,
World's Most,
the Swans,
PIL,
Kurtis Blow,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
the Human League,
The Modern Lovers, The Modern Lovers, The Modern Lovers, The Modern Lovers.
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.