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 Andorra and from Stockholm.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 The Angels of Light to the funk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Busters. All the underground hits.
All Judy Mowatt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Quando Quango record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sonny Sharrock record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marmalade,
Bob Dylan,
the Slits,
Bobby Byrd,
Peter & Gordon,
Ultravox,
Babytalk,
The Last Poets,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Cameo,
Junior Murvin,
Black Sheep,
Technova,
Kayak,
Yazoo,
Sixth Finger,
Royal Trux,
Black Flag,
Sandy B,
Harry Pussy,
Robert Hood,
Roger Hodgson,
Mandrill,
The Residents,
Nation of Ulysses,
E-Dancer,
Wally Richardson,
The Happenings,
Nirvana,
Mr. Review,
Ornette Coleman,
Monks,
T.S.O.L.,
Ponytail,
Traffic Nightmare,
Camberwell Now,
Brick,
Tomorrow,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
AZ,
Rosa Yemen,
Rapeman,
Index,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Techniques,
Jacob Miller,
Hashim,
Eddi Front,
Negative Approach,
Surgeon,
Pylon,
a-ha,
Buzzcocks,
Trumans Water,
the Soft Cell,
Scrapy,
The Fuzztones,
Second Layer,
Con Funk Shun,
Stereo Dub,
Hardrive,
The Grass Roots,
Vainqueur,
Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill.
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.