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 United States and from Taipei.
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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 The Mummies to the disco kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Richard Hell and the Voidoids. All the underground hits.
All R.M.O. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Idris Muhammad record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Q65 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gil Scott Heron,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Spandau Ballet,
Deadbeat,
Wally Richardson,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Zapp,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Black Pus,
The Leaves,
Fela Kuti,
Mars,
The Doors,
Swell Maps,
The Black Dice,
Reuben Wilson,
Blossom Toes,
Faraquet,
Alton Ellis,
Radio Birdman,
Khruangbin,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Lou Reed,
New York Dolls,
John Cale,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
DNA,
In Retrospect,
Lakeside,
Joensuu 1685,
John Coltrane,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Metal Thangz,
Schoolly D,
Albert Ayler,
Rapeman,
Brick,
Mission of Burma,
Donald Byrd,
This Heat,
Jesper Dahlback,
Kaleidoscope,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Human League,
Mary Jane Girls,
Liliput,
Carl Craig,
Country Teasers,
Byron Stingily,
Avey Tare,
Saccharine Trust,
Leonard Cohen,
Jimmy McGriff,
Cluster,
T. Rex,
Bootsy Collins,
Motorama,
Wings,
The Durutti Column,
Slave, Slave, Slave, Slave.
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.