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 Madagascar and from Calgary.
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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Jerry Gold Smith to the disco 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 ABBA. All the underground hits.
All Glambeats Corp. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Byron Stingily 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bill Near record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
the Fania All-Stars,
Malaria!,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Evens,
Bluetip,
Dawn Penn,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Wasted Youth,
David Bowie,
Hot Snakes,
Mission of Burma,
Maurizio,
Los Fastidios,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Pierre Henry,
Skriet,
Connie Case,
The Martian,
Black Pus,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Black Sheep,
Alphaville,
Jeff Mills,
Rosa Yemen,
The Cowsills,
Sex Pistols,
Bootsy Collins,
Deadbeat,
Aural Exciters,
Steve Hackett,
The Star Department,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Stockholm Monsters,
Japan,
Q and Not U,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Smog,
Cameo,
The Buckinghams,
Livin' Joy,
Q65,
Half Japanese,
The Durutti Column,
The United States of America,
AZ,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Ornette Coleman,
The Five Americans,
John Coltrane,
John Cale,
The Velvet Underground,
The Gladiators,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Animal Collective,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Desert Stars,
Depeche Mode,
Gang of Four,
Khruangbin,
The Electric Prunes,
Lindisfarne,
Sarah Menescal, Sarah Menescal, Sarah Menescal, Sarah Menescal.
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.