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 Saudi Arabia and from Bologna.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Woodstock.
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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Pere Ubu 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 Sexual Harrassment. All the underground hits.
All Faust tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Reuben Wilson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Busters,
Donny Hathaway,
Toni Rubio,
Morten Harket,
Frankie Knuckles,
the Human League,
Lower 48,
Nick Fraelich,
Second Layer,
Infiniti,
Gichy Dan,
Icehouse,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Section 25,
Yusef Lateef,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Blancmange,
The Walker Brothers,
Fela Kuti,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Dead C,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Intrusion,
kango's stein massive,
Eric B and Rakim,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Fall,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Arab on Radar,
Electric Prunes,
Smog,
Radio Birdman,
Khruangbin,
The Index,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Charles Mingus,
Derrick May,
Andrew Hill,
Funkadelic,
Nico,
Mars,
Kaleidoscope,
The Blackbyrds,
Isaac Hayes,
Jawbox,
Eddi Front,
Scrapy,
The Flesh Eaters,
Au Pairs,
Max Romeo,
Sarah Menescal,
John Lydon,
The Mojo Men,
Make Up,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Moss Icon,
Monks,
The Zeros,
Tim Buckley,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Qualms, Qualms, Qualms, Qualms.
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.