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 China and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Cymande to the grunge 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 Eddi Front. All the underground hits.
All Duran Duran tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pantaleimon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masters at Work record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Warsaw,
The Gun Club,
Rekid,
Bang On A Can,
Banda Bassotti,
Amazonics,
Jawbox,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Robert Wyatt,
June of 44,
EPMD,
New Order,
Arcadia,
Ponytail,
The Smiths,
Quadrant,
Camouflage,
Cymande,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Connie Case,
Bootsy Collins,
X-102,
Interpol,
Oblivians,
Qualms,
Kerrie Biddell,
Sparks,
Pole,
The Angels of Light,
Gichy Dan,
The Moody Blues,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Crispian St. Peters,
Joey Negro,
Von Mondo,
Marcia Griffiths,
Johnny Osbourne,
Skarface,
The Sound,
The Last Poets,
Hardrive,
Laurel Aitken,
Smog,
Stiv Bators,
Siglo XX,
Ultra Naté,
KRS-One,
Alphaville,
Glambeats Corp.,
Procol Harum,
The Cowsills,
Saccharine Trust,
Oneida,
Man Eating Sloth,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Agent Orange,
Cheater Slicks,
Hoover,
Eli Mardock,
The Young Rascals,
Jeff Mills, Jeff Mills, Jeff Mills, Jeff Mills.
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.