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 Chile and from Lagos.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Germs to the techno kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 One Last Wish. All the underground hits.
All Eric B and Rakim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fire Engines record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 a spring reverb and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Magazine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Intrusion,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Technova,
June of 44,
Hot Snakes,
Scrapy,
Maleditus Sound,
Amon Düül II,
Junior Murvin,
Anthony Braxton,
Theoretical Girls,
Wasted Youth,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Swell Maps,
Crooked Eye,
Kenny Larkin,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Scion,
Joy Division,
Zapp,
Dual Sessions,
Porter Ricks,
The Five Americans,
Slave,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Juan Atkins,
Idris Muhammad,
Joyce Sims,
Suicide,
Al Stewart,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Tremeloes,
Pylon,
Frankie Knuckles,
Public Image Ltd.,
Electric Prunes,
Interpol,
Scientists,
Cecil Taylor,
Flamin' Groovies,
Visage,
The Dirtbombs,
La Düsseldorf,
Sexual Harrassment,
Rufus Thomas,
Quantec,
Soul II Soul,
Brand Nubian,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Barbara Tucker,
Man Parrish,
Gichy Dan,
K-Klass,
Bad Manners,
Scott Walker,
The Smiths,
The Techniques,
The Young Rascals,
Glenn Branca,
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.