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 East Timor and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 The Electric Prunes to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Jeru the Damaja. All the underground hits.
All Procol Harum tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dead C record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Shuggie Otis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
48th St. Collective,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Dark Day,
The Divine Comedy,
Trumans Water,
Whodini,
Outsiders,
Fluxion,
Joe Finger,
The Trojans,
Inner City,
Neu!,
Pierre Henry,
Blancmange,
Jeff Lynne,
Marine Girls,
Radiopuhelimet,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Birthday Party,
Scott Walker,
Supertramp,
KRS-One,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Bluetip,
The Neon Judgement,
Section 25,
Cal Tjader,
Crash Course in Science,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Wally Richardson,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Misunderstood,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Slick Rick,
David McCallum,
Ituana,
Warsaw,
The Durutti Column,
Motorama,
Theoretical Girls,
Kurtis Blow,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Average White Band,
Nas,
Robert Görl,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Gang Starr,
Delta 5,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Ultravox,
The Mummies,
ABC,
Fear,
Con Funk Shun,
Shuggie Otis,
Bush Tetras,
Rakim,
Yusef Lateef,
Lindisfarne,
The Pretty Things,
Visage, Visage, Visage, Visage.
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.