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 Togo and from Woodstock.
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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Nas to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 The Music Machine. All the underground hits.
All Public Enemy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Birthday Party record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Agent Orange record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ice-T,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Second Layer,
Robert Görl,
Jandek,
Thee Headcoats,
Minnie Riperton,
Vainqueur,
Monks,
MC5,
Crispy Ambulance,
Absolute Body Control,
Sex Pistols,
The Searchers,
The Alarm Clocks,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Aloha Tigers,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Quadrant,
Eli Mardock,
Janne Schatter,
John Holt,
Tim Buckley,
The Black Dice,
Sandy B,
Donald Byrd,
Rosa Yemen,
Pagans,
Harry Pussy,
Laurel Aitken,
Idris Muhammad,
Adolescents,
Pussy Galore,
Mad Mike,
Agent Orange,
The Fugs,
Accadde A,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Sarah Menescal,
The Grass Roots,
Tomorrow,
The Misunderstood,
Maleditus Sound,
The Mummies,
New York Dolls,
Public Enemy,
Q65,
Parry Music,
Shuggie Otis,
Yellowson,
Khruangbin,
Kevin Saunderson,
Cheater Slicks,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Toni Rubio,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Matthew Bourne,
Morten Harket,
Quando Quango,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Sonics,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity, Roy Ayers Ubiquity, Roy Ayers Ubiquity, Roy Ayers Ubiquity.
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.