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 Chad and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Panda Bear to the punk 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 Neon Judgement. All the underground hits.
All The Young Rascals tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Harmonia 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brass Construction record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
Johnny Clarke,
Index,
Pharoah Sanders,
Yaz,
The Residents,
The Cowsills,
Derrick May,
Darondo,
Sex Pistols,
10cc,
Intrusion,
X-102,
Eli Mardock,
David Axelrod,
Soft Machine,
Scrapy,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Oneida,
Can,
Altered Images,
Matthew Bourne,
Al Stewart,
Franke,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Q65,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Radio Birdman,
The Alarm Clocks,
Severed Heads,
Fort Wilson Riot,
CMW,
The Saints,
The Durutti Column,
Guru Guru,
Skaos,
Freddie Wadling,
Mo-Dettes,
Lyres,
The Black Dice,
Henry Cow,
Wolf Eyes,
Television,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Grass Roots,
Cluster,
Gabor Szabo,
Fluxion,
Massinfluence,
Royal Trux,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
James White and The Blacks,
Country Teasers,
Cal Tjader,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Arcadia,
Marvin Gaye,
Qualms,
Fat Boys,
Ituana,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood.
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.