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 Argentina and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1971 at the first Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the oboe 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 Crash Course in Science to the jazz kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Kerrie Biddell. All the underground hits.
All Kevin Saunderson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Reagan Youth record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 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 chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roxy Music,
Sly & The Family Stone,
F. McDonald,
Excepter,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Cameo,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
AZ,
Bob Dylan,
kango's stein massive,
Quantec,
The Vogues,
Ohio Players,
Dorothy Ashby,
Maleditus Sound,
Bush Tetras,
Aloha Tigers,
The Black Dice,
Wings,
The Fugs,
Joey Negro,
Sonny Sharrock,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Television Personalities,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Saints,
Warsaw,
Sam Rivers,
Robert Wyatt,
Idris Muhammad,
The Monochrome Set,
The Fall,
Can,
Inner City,
Mars,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Donald Byrd,
Eric Dolphy,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Victims,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Jacob Miller,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Dawn Penn,
Make Up,
Rhythm & Sound,
Metal Thangz,
Heaven 17,
Q65,
Yaz,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Marcia Griffiths,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Arthur Verocai,
The Electric Prunes,
The Gories,
Echospace,
Grandmaster Flash,
Alphaville,
David Axelrod,
The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood.
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.