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 Luxembourg and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 Salvador and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ 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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Dawn Penn tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Toni Rubio record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Franke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Fear,
Sight & Sound,
The American Breed,
Alison Limerick,
Jeff Mills,
Black Flag,
The Gap Band,
Fela Kuti,
Jawbox,
ABC,
Man Eating Sloth,
Panda Bear,
The Slackers,
The Last Poets,
Godley & Creme,
Sarah Menescal,
La Düsseldorf,
Magazine,
Angry Samoans,
Los Fastidios,
The Tremeloes,
Country Teasers,
Glambeats Corp.,
Johnny Clarke,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Rakim,
Jacob Miller,
R.M.O.,
Warsaw,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
AZ,
Q and Not U,
Jacques Brel,
Scan 7,
Ornette Coleman,
Bob Dylan,
8 Eyed Spy,
the Human League,
The Flesh Eaters,
Mantronix,
Iggy Pop,
Scientists,
Ituana,
New York Dolls,
Pylon,
Circle Jerks,
Scott Walker,
Susan Cadogan,
The Dead C,
Essential Logic,
Donald Byrd,
Avey Tare,
The Cowsills,
Nas,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Robert Görl,
Max Romeo,
Jandek,
Blancmange,
Gang Gang Dance,
Joyce Sims,
Dark Day, Dark Day, Dark Day, Dark Day.
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.