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 Peru and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 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 Glenn Branca to the disco kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Con Funk Shun. All the underground hits.
All Tommy Roe tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arab on Radar 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Slick Rick record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Donald Byrd,
Aural Exciters,
Aaron Thompson,
Terry Callier,
Marc Almond,
Boogie Down Productions,
Joy Division,
the Sonics,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Index,
Hardrive,
L. Decosne,
Patti Smith,
Pussy Galore,
Deepchord,
Pharoah Sanders,
Essential Logic,
Janne Schatter,
Arab on Radar,
Blossom Toes,
One Last Wish,
Dave Gahan,
KRS-One,
Quantec,
Depeche Mode,
The Cramps,
Kaleidoscope,
The Music Machine,
Bluetip,
Henry Cow,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Fortunes,
Ralphi Rosario,
Y Pants,
Ronnie Foster,
Ultra Naté,
Swell Maps,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Underground Resistance,
Radiohead,
Magma,
Robert Hood,
Tom Boy,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Blues Magoos,
Tropical Tobacco,
Brand Nubian,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
New York Dolls,
Shoche,
Subhumans,
Blancmange,
Minnie Riperton,
Graham Central Station,
Nico,
Black Bananas,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Black Dice,
The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light.
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.