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 Venezuela and from Seoul.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 sitar 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 Jesper Dahlbäck to the punk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Rites of Spring. All the underground hits.
All Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Count Five record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Misunderstood,
Archie Shepp,
Suicide,
the Swans,
Roxette,
Whodini,
Joey Negro,
The Skatalites,
Harry Pussy,
Hasil Adkins,
Sexual Harrassment,
Camberwell Now,
Juan Atkins,
Cal Tjader,
Jacob Miller,
Jeff Mills,
The Saints,
The Names,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Gang Green,
Grey Daturas,
James White and The Blacks,
Infiniti,
Surgeon,
F. McDonald,
The Monks,
Warsaw,
Quantec,
Essential Logic,
Ponytail,
Country Teasers,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Dawn Penn,
Bootsy Collins,
Sonny Sharrock,
JFA,
The Litter,
Arthur Verocai,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Tremeloes,
Marmalade,
The Last Poets,
Girls At Our Best!,
Jesper Dahlback,
Harmonia,
Sister Nancy,
Magazine,
MDC,
Jerry's Kids,
La Düsseldorf,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Zero Boys,
Black Flag,
Panda Bear,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
MC5,
Q and Not U,
Byron Stingily,
Index,
Barry Ungar,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Techniques, The Techniques, The Techniques, The Techniques.
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.