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 Brazil 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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
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 Bang on a Can All-Stars to the funk 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 Junior Murvin. All the underground hits.
All Yellowson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Graham Central Station record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rekid,
The Wake,
Newcleus,
Spandau Ballet,
Wasted Youth,
Ronnie Foster,
Idris Muhammad,
Scientists,
Marmalade,
The Detroit Cobras,
Amon Düül II,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Martian,
DJ Style,
Ash Ra Tempel,
John Holt,
Lou Christie,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Avey Tare,
Qualms,
Lee Hazlewood,
Popol Vuh,
Dual Sessions,
Ralphi Rosario,
Sonny Sharrock,
Mars,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Yusef Lateef,
Pere Ubu,
The Techniques,
Boogie Down Productions,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Neil Young,
Soul II Soul,
The Mojo Men,
Grandmaster Flash,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Victims,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Dawn Penn,
Sex Pistols,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Blossom Toes,
Schoolly D,
Stetsasonic,
Quantec,
Babytalk,
Funkadelic,
Ultimate Spinach,
Stiv Bators,
Electric Prunes,
The Last Poets,
Negative Approach,
the Sonics,
Suburban Knight,
Leonard Cohen,
Derrick May,
Vainqueur,
Jerry's Kids,
Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms.
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.