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 Equatorial Guinea and from Edmonton.
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 1965 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Gladiators to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Au Pairs. All the underground hits.
All Eve St. Jones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Schoolly D record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gichy Dan record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marcia Griffiths,
The American Breed,
Zero Boys,
Severed Heads,
Barbara Tucker,
Anakelly,
Camouflage,
The Golliwogs,
FM Einheit,
Ronnie Foster,
The Cowsills,
Iggy Pop,
EPMD,
Marmalade,
Scratch Acid,
Alison Limerick,
Big Daddy Kane,
Fluxion,
In Retrospect,
Janne Schatter,
Slave,
Gregory Isaacs,
Eric B and Rakim,
Nico,
KRS-One,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Con Funk Shun,
Steve Hackett,
Pagans,
Minor Threat,
Jeru the Damaja,
Mission of Burma,
The Mojo Men,
Eddi Front,
Accadde A,
The Names,
David Axelrod,
Jimmy McGriff,
Scrapy,
Mr. Review,
Kerri Chandler,
Public Enemy,
Kaleidoscope,
Liliput,
Drive Like Jehu,
Swans,
Bang On A Can,
Robert Wyatt,
Gang of Four,
The Neon Judgement,
Blossom Toes,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Bill Wells,
Desert Stars,
Young Marble Giants,
Pylon,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Fear,
Max Romeo,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Wally Richardson,
Model 500, Model 500, Model 500, Model 500.
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.