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 Philippines and from Manchester.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Kings Of Tomorrow to the electroclash 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 The Selecter. All the underground hits.
All Pussy Galore tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Absolute Body Control 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Loose Ends,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Cheater Slicks,
The Raincoats,
Urselle,
Crime,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Laurel Aitken,
The Fugs,
Spoonie Gee,
New Order,
Davy DMX,
Eddi Front,
The Doobie Brothers,
Eric Dolphy,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Con Funk Shun,
Infiniti,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Cymande,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Terrestrial Tones,
Crooked Eye,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Sonics,
Yusef Lateef,
Lalo Schifrin,
Donny Hathaway,
Letta Mbulu,
Glenn Branca,
Technova,
The Last Poets,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Donald Byrd,
Black Flag,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Dead C,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Marc Almond,
Ultra Naté,
Matthew Bourne,
Black Sheep,
Peter & Gordon,
Soft Machine,
Leonard Cohen,
Amon Düül,
Tom Boy,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Deadbeat,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Wake,
Nation of Ulysses,
Grandmaster Flash,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Scott Walker,
Von Mondo,
Minny Pops,
Blake Baxter,
Kas Product,
Sällskapet,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar, Arab on Radar.
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.