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 Iran and from Houston.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Bobby Sherman to the jazz 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 New York Dolls. All the underground hits.
All Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soft Machine record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Barracudas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mad Mike,
Gang Starr,
New York Dolls,
The United States of America,
Rapeman,
The Remains,
Yaz,
Wolf Eyes,
Inner City,
The Slackers,
Big Daddy Kane,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Cowsills,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Scratch Acid,
The Doobie Brothers,
Ultra Naté,
Suicide,
Depeche Mode,
Reagan Youth,
Alice Coltrane,
Mars,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Half Japanese,
Gregory Isaacs,
Zero Boys,
Sound Behaviour,
Metal Thangz,
The Blackbyrds,
Donald Byrd,
Tropical Tobacco,
Deadbeat,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Tom Boy,
Lee Hazlewood,
Essential Logic,
The Alarm Clocks,
Rites of Spring,
Ken Boothe,
Mo-Dettes,
Johnny Clarke,
Arab on Radar,
Shoche,
The Sonics,
Gang Gang Dance,
Massinfluence,
Johnny Osbourne,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Kayak,
Alison Limerick,
The Electric Prunes,
Qualms,
Sister Nancy,
The Shadows of Knight,
MDC,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Vladislav Delay,
Marvin Gaye,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Ponytail,
Crooked Eye,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
a-ha, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha.
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.