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 Algeria and from Cairo.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Sun Ra to the grunge kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Saints. All the underground hits.
All Kurtis Blow tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every T.S.O.L. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Malaria! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scientists,
F. McDonald,
Charles Mingus,
The American Breed,
Desert Stars,
Bill Near,
ABBA,
Joe Finger,
Ultra Naté,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Stooges,
Television Personalities,
Bad Manners,
Eve St. Jones,
June Days,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Matthew Halsall,
John Lydon,
Fela Kuti,
Pussy Galore,
DJ Sneak,
Skaos,
The Seeds,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Grass Roots,
Albert Ayler,
The Slackers,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Henry Cow,
Vainqueur,
Deepchord,
MDC,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Angels of Light,
X-Ray Spex,
Neil Young,
Chris Corsano,
The Cramps,
Matthew Bourne,
Buzzcocks,
K-Klass,
Kevin Saunderson,
Essential Logic,
Ohio Players,
Wire,
John Foxx,
The Index,
48th St. Collective,
Qualms,
Zero Boys,
Minor Threat,
Grey Daturas,
Livin' Joy,
Boredoms,
The United States of America,
Franke,
Camberwell Now,
The Star Department,
Stetsasonic,
The Misunderstood,
Surgeon,
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.
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.