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 Germany and from Calgary.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the güiro 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 Faust to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Young Rascals. All the underground hits.
All Audionom tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every 48th St. Collective 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Little Man,
Suburban Knight,
Warsaw,
Ituana,
Kayak,
The Searchers,
Cheater Slicks,
Minor Threat,
Sällskapet,
New Age Steppers,
Rekid,
Ultimate Spinach,
Kerri Chandler,
Pet Shop Boys,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Groovy Waters,
Hashim,
Todd Rundgren,
Robert Hood,
Moby Grape,
Camouflage,
Steve Hackett,
The Sonics,
Matthew Halsall,
Skaos,
Sun City Girls,
Sonny Sharrock,
Metal Thangz,
Joe Finger,
The Velvet Underground,
Royal Trux,
Zapp,
Mad Mike,
Nik Kershaw,
Toni Rubio,
Robert Wyatt,
Public Enemy,
Tommy Roe,
The Standells,
Mandrill,
The Pretty Things,
Bad Manners,
The Toasters,
Darondo,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Cure,
EPMD,
Sight & Sound,
Bauhaus,
The Flesh Eaters,
Vladislav Delay,
Soulsonic Force,
The Happenings,
Joyce Sims,
David Axelrod,
Sex Pistols,
Fear,
Harry Pussy,
The Saints,
The Sound,
Kerrie Biddell,
Jacob Miller,
Rakim, Rakim, Rakim, Rakim.
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.