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 Dominican Republic and from London.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Freddie Wadling 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 Glenn Branca. All the underground hits.
All Harry Pussy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Iggy Pop record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eurythmics,
The Buckinghams,
Alphaville,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Ten City,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
June Days,
The New Christs,
Crooked Eye,
Thompson Twins,
Joyce Sims,
Skriet,
Visage,
Josef K,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
MDC,
Gichy Dan,
FM Einheit,
Bauhaus,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Yellowson,
Eden Ahbez,
Peter and Kerry,
UT,
Iggy Pop,
The Black Dice,
The Gladiators,
The Divine Comedy,
Adolescents,
Mark Hollis,
Erasure,
Boz Scaggs,
The Raincoats,
Black Flag,
U.S. Maple,
Radiopuhelimet,
Jandek,
Unwound,
Maurizio,
Rufus Thomas,
John Coltrane,
Shuggie Otis,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Warren Ellis,
Sixth Finger,
MC5,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Monolake,
Kurtis Blow,
Frankie Knuckles,
Camouflage,
Isaac Hayes,
The Zeros,
The Dead C,
Goldenarms,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Barbara Tucker,
Lalo Schifrin,
Funkadelic,
B.T. Express,
K-Klass, K-Klass, K-Klass, K-Klass.
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.