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 South Africa and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel to the rock kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Tremeloes. All the underground hits.
All The Gladiators tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Gap Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 marimba and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Schoolly D record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Slackers,
The Fuzztones,
Ponytail,
The Detroit Cobras,
Masters at Work,
Aural Exciters,
Jacques Brel,
Arcadia,
Drexciya,
Animal Collective,
Fatback Band,
Infiniti,
The Divine Comedy,
Blancmange,
Lightning Bolt,
Make Up,
Matthew Halsall,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Grey Daturas,
Black Sheep,
Monks,
48th St. Collective,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Man Parrish,
Amon Düül,
Shuggie Otis,
Zapp,
Talk Talk,
Johnny Clarke,
Delon & Dalcan,
Kerri Chandler,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
John Holt,
L. Decosne,
Lou Christie,
Pulsallama,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Moody Blues,
The Velvet Underground,
B.T. Express,
Model 500,
Throbbing Gristle,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Martian,
The Five Americans,
Eve St. Jones,
Neu!,
Isaac Hayes,
Patti Smith,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Pantaleimon,
Kaleidoscope,
Letta Mbulu,
The Index,
the Germs,
Porter Ricks,
David Bowie,
Black Flag,
Q and Not U,
Fear, Fear, Fear, Fear.
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.