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 Romania and from Bremen.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Scrapy to the punk 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 Jesper Dahlback. All the underground hits.
All Sexual Harrassment tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Beau Brummels record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Smoke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pylon,
Laurel Aitken,
Groovy Waters,
Severed Heads,
Mr. Review,
Hardrive,
The J.B.'s,
The Star Department,
Lebanon Hanover,
Marcia Griffiths,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Fugazi,
Crash Course in Science,
Black Moon,
Faust,
DJ Style,
Nico,
Echospace,
Lou Christie,
The Moody Blues,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Jerry's Kids,
Ken Boothe,
The Stooges,
Crispian St. Peters,
Vladislav Delay,
Guru Guru,
Yazoo,
the Fania All-Stars,
Das Ding,
Arab on Radar,
Ponytail,
Pharoah Sanders,
Alison Limerick,
Fela Kuti,
The Saints,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Pantytec,
Silicon Teens,
Nik Kershaw,
Smog,
The Young Rascals,
Brothers Johnson,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Sällskapet,
Davy DMX,
The Last Poets,
The Martian,
Spandau Ballet,
Babytalk,
Lungfish,
Excepter,
Terrestrial Tones,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Angels of Light,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Gun Club,
John Foxx,
Lyres,
Bob Dylan,
The Walker Brothers,
The Residents,
Reagan Youth,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Chris & Cosey, Chris & Cosey, Chris & Cosey, Chris & Cosey.
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.