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 United States and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Royal Family And The Poor to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Notorious Big And Bone Thugs. All the underground hits.
All Bang On A Can tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Evens record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nico record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Interpol,
The Names,
Groovy Waters,
Scott Walker,
China Crisis,
Big Daddy Kane,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Cymande,
Mr. Review,
Altered Images,
The Associates,
Albert Ayler,
Minnie Riperton,
The Count Five,
Amon Düül II,
Marine Girls,
Arthur Verocai,
Josef K,
Animal Collective,
Suicide,
The Victims,
Don Cherry,
DJ Sneak,
Andrew Hill,
Sister Nancy,
The Mummies,
The Barracudas,
Ice-T,
The Music Machine,
Pierre Henry,
Slave,
Rekid,
Nation of Ulysses,
Amazonics,
Pylon,
Bauhaus,
Prince Buster,
Maurizio,
Eric Copeland,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Fortunes,
Harpers Bizarre,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Wire,
Soft Machine,
The Mojo Men,
Dead Boys,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Todd Terry,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Dead C,
Rakim,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Dennis Brown,
The Gap Band,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Index,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Liliput,
Nico, Nico, Nico, Nico.
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.