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 Liechtenstein and from Tehran.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar 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 L. Decosne to the grunge 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 Red Lorry Yellow Lorry. All the underground hits.
All Reuben Wilson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Selecter record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a R.M.O. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Slave,
Desert Stars,
Funky Four + One,
Monolake,
Q and Not U,
Camberwell Now,
Jeru the Damaja,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Cowsills,
Bob Dylan,
John Cale,
Joyce Sims,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Harry Pussy,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Nation of Ulysses,
Ohio Players,
Silicon Teens,
Freddie Wadling,
Anthony Braxton,
The Electric Prunes,
The Move,
Sixth Finger,
Cameo,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Wings,
Theoretical Girls,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Maurizio,
The Gun Club,
Fela Kuti,
Rufus Thomas,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Spoonie Gee,
Nik Kershaw,
Aloha Tigers,
Albert Ayler,
Qualms,
Inner City,
Iggy Pop,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Eric B and Rakim,
Royal Trux,
The Birthday Party,
Suicide,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Yaz,
The Remains,
Organ,
Mandrill,
EPMD,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Doobie Brothers,
Pagans,
DJ Sneak,
Amon Düül II,
The Searchers,
Motorama,
Sällskapet,
Don Cherry,
Malaria!, Malaria!, Malaria!, Malaria!.
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.