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 Guyana and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Niagra to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Groovy Waters. All the underground hits.
All Kerrie Biddell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Au Pairs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nick Fraelich record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gil Scott Heron,
Saccharine Trust,
Byron Stingily,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Curtis Mayfield,
the Soft Cell,
Rekid,
Con Funk Shun,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Bobby Womack,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Count Five,
Cluster,
Mad Mike,
The New Christs,
Yazoo,
John Lydon,
Silicon Teens,
Bluetip,
June of 44,
Toni Rubio,
Wasted Youth,
Thompson Twins,
Procol Harum,
The Saints,
Barclay James Harvest,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
New Order,
The Cowsills,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Stockholm Monsters,
Malaria!,
Lalann,
Sandy B,
Frankie Knuckles,
Pantytec,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Skatalites,
Cal Tjader,
The Slits,
Negative Approach,
Moby Grape,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Alarm Clocks,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Mummies,
Heaven 17,
Porter Ricks,
The Invisible,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Amon Düül,
Reuben Wilson,
Deakin,
Colin Newman,
Essential Logic,
Mo-Dettes,
Little Man,
Girls At Our Best!,
Gastr Del Sol,
Black Bananas, Black Bananas, Black Bananas, Black Bananas.
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.