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 Nigeria and from Manila.
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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 808 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 The Neon Judgement to the rock 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 Barrington Levy. All the underground hits.
All The Smoke tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 harpsichord and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a F. McDonald record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suicide,
Kaleidoscope,
Bootsy Collins,
Roger Hodgson,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Kinks,
The United States of America,
DJ Style,
Hasil Adkins,
Howard Jones,
Rotary Connection,
Grey Daturas,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Monolake,
Lungfish,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Infiniti,
DNA,
Scientists,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Eli Mardock,
Tomorrow,
Ohio Players,
Heaven 17,
Radio Birdman,
10cc,
Ronnie Foster,
Joe Finger,
Neil Young,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Graham Central Station,
Donald Byrd,
The Misunderstood,
The Dave Clark Five,
Matthew Halsall,
Peter and Kerry,
The Moody Blues,
Soft Cell,
Iggy Pop,
Dennis Brown,
Funkadelic,
Mo-Dettes,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Bill Near,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Martian,
Gichy Dan,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Mojo Men,
The Blues Magoos,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Prince Buster,
Marmalade,
Simply Red,
Dark Day,
New Order,
Dead Boys,
Symarip,
Rosa Yemen,
Jesper Dahlback,
Yellowson, Yellowson, Yellowson, Yellowson.
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.