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 Djibouti and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Rapeman to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Suburban Knight. All the underground hits.
All Liaisons Dangereuses tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Morten Harket 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Aswad,
Spoonie Gee,
Prince Buster,
Yaz,
Livin' Joy,
Duran Duran,
Jeff Mills,
Ultimate Spinach,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Lucky Dragons,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Gladiators,
Max Romeo,
China Crisis,
Davy DMX,
Pantytec,
Alice Coltrane,
The Tremeloes,
The Blues Magoos,
The Skatalites,
Newcleus,
Rosa Yemen,
Blossom Toes,
Organ,
DJ Sneak,
Bauhaus,
Wolf Eyes,
Cameo,
Echospace,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Fuzztones,
The Walker Brothers,
Suicide,
Reagan Youth,
Animal Collective,
H. Thieme,
Maurizio,
D'Angelo,
The Evens,
Y Pants,
The Beau Brummels,
The Barracudas,
Scratch Acid,
Mantronix,
The Remains,
The Litter,
Brothers Johnson,
Robert Hood,
Chrome,
Mark Hollis,
June of 44,
Franke,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Pharoah Sanders,
Kerrie Biddell,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Tropical Tobacco,
Nation of Ulysses,
Nas,
Stereo Dub,
Boz Scaggs,
The United States of America,
Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya.
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.