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 Kosovo and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in London.
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 Calgary and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Blues Magoos to the rap 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 Funky Four + One. All the underground hits.
All Sixth Finger tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Searchers 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Donald Byrd 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?
The Smoke,
The Cure,
Barry Ungar,
Tim Buckley,
U.S. Maple,
Dorothy Ashby,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Royal Trux,
Pulsallama,
Thompson Twins,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Jeru the Damaja,
Joe Finger,
Flash Fearless,
David Bowie,
Bobby Byrd,
The Five Americans,
Albert Ayler,
Crispy Ambulance,
Rotary Connection,
Nik Kershaw,
Electric Light Orchestra,
X-102,
Audionom,
The Doors,
Sexual Harrassment,
Gang of Four,
Suicide,
Soft Cell,
Gabor Szabo,
Pharoah Sanders,
Trumans Water,
Kevin Saunderson,
Kenny Larkin,
Bronski Beat,
Fat Boys,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Con Funk Shun,
Marine Girls,
Grey Daturas,
Deakin,
Unrelated Segments,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Slits,
Bush Tetras,
Monolake,
Tubeway Army,
Mad Mike,
Magma,
Dawn Penn,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Black Moon,
Rod Modell,
Glenn Branca,
The Sonics,
Average White Band,
Stetsasonic,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Roger Hodgson,
Grandmaster Flash,
Erasure,
Pagans, Pagans, Pagans, Pagans.
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.