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 Lithuania and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 mellotron 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 B.T. Express to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Cowsills. All the underground hits.
All Barbara Tucker tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Heavy D & The Boyz 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Y Pants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Excepter,
Gang Starr,
Faust,
Ituana,
Alphaville,
Chris Corsano,
Siglo XX,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Jacob Miller,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Bobby Sherman,
the Association,
UT,
Black Pus,
The Names,
Brand Nubian,
The Smiths,
Jerry's Kids,
Whodini,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
John Lydon,
The J.B.'s,
Kaleidoscope,
Darondo,
Black Sheep,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Cymande,
Organ,
the Fania All-Stars,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Royal Trux,
Banda Bassotti,
Pole,
Metal Thangz,
Heaven 17,
Scion,
Yazoo,
Kevin Saunderson,
Trumans Water,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Dark Day,
Tears for Fears,
Davy DMX,
The Alarm Clocks,
Flash Fearless,
Roy Ayers,
Traffic Nightmare,
Animal Collective,
Gichy Dan,
Harmonia,
Eric Copeland,
The Knickerbockers,
Albert Ayler,
Faraquet,
Fela Kuti,
Maurizio,
Iggy Pop,
The Sonics,
Spoonie Gee,
Lou Reed,
Bob Dylan,
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.