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 Austria and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 guitar 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 Skarface to the grunge 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 Sarah Menescal. All the underground hits.
All Piero Umiliani tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eric Copeland record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cymande record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
June of 44,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Eric Copeland,
Brothers Johnson,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Toni Rubio,
Stockholm Monsters,
Soft Cell,
Gastr Del Sol,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Grey Daturas,
Popol Vuh,
The Residents,
Wings,
Smog,
a-ha,
Bobby Sherman,
The Human League,
Roy Ayers,
Soulsonic Force,
Donald Byrd,
Slick Rick,
Iggy Pop,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Leaves,
The Durutti Column,
Thee Headcoats,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Selecter,
Sarah Menescal,
The Motions,
Mars,
Laurel Aitken,
Cybotron,
Darondo,
Neu!,
Skarface,
Country Teasers,
The Real Kids,
the Bar-Kays,
Second Layer,
Warren Ellis,
Hashim,
Gang Starr,
Khruangbin,
T. Rex,
Wire,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Sun City Girls,
Unrelated Segments,
David Axelrod,
Motorama,
Terrestrial Tones,
Moebius,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Skatalites,
X-Ray Spex,
The Flesh Eaters,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Spandau Ballet,
Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry.
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.