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 Guinea-Bissau and from Spokane.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Angels of Light to the rap 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 Steve Hackett. All the underground hits.
All Crispian St. Peters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eve St. Jones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Louis and Bebe Barron,
La Düsseldorf,
Tubeway Army,
Ultimate Spinach,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Sun City Girls,
David Bowie,
Pere Ubu,
Can,
Al Stewart,
The Slackers,
Boredoms,
The Fugs,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Harpers Bizarre,
Erasure,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Warsaw,
Joyce Sims,
Masters at Work,
The Moleskins,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
June Days,
Faust,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Donald Byrd,
Excepter,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Vogues,
These Immortal Souls,
Black Flag,
Jacques Brel,
Roy Ayers,
Public Enemy,
Skarface,
The American Breed,
Barbara Tucker,
Rakim,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Remains,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Organ,
ABC,
X-102,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
In Retrospect,
Rod Modell,
Sun Ra,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Lower 48,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Human League,
Wire,
Terry Callier,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The J.B.'s,
China Crisis,
The Birthday Party,
Cluster,
Ten City,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy, The Peanut Butter Conspiracy.
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.