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 Finland and from Hong Kong.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Cosmic Jokers to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog. All the underground hits.
All Johnny Clarke tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Art Ensemble Of Chicago record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Goldenarms record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Reuben Wilson,
Archie Shepp,
The Gap Band,
The American Breed,
Sugar Minott,
Terrestrial Tones,
Surgeon,
Soft Cell,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Doors,
U.S. Maple,
June Days,
Jesper Dahlback,
Lou Reed,
Rosa Yemen,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Cure,
Newcleus,
The Skatalites,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Boredoms,
Brothers Johnson,
Little Man,
Lebanon Hanover,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Visage,
Sight & Sound,
Eric Copeland,
Goldenarms,
EPMD,
Livin' Joy,
Pantaleimon,
Kurtis Blow,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Warren Ellis,
Grauzone,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Agitation Free,
Marshall Jefferson,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Rufus Thomas,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Youth Brigade,
Blake Baxter,
Steve Hackett,
Bobby Byrd,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Patti Smith,
Pussy Galore,
F. McDonald,
These Immortal Souls,
Graham Central Station,
The Names,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
James White and The Blacks,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Scrapy,
Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson.
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.