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 Seychelles and from Philadelphia.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Last Poets to the techno 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 Harpers Bizarre. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Techniques 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Matthew Halsall record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Blancmange,
cv313,
H. Thieme,
Wolf Eyes,
One Last Wish,
Scientists,
The Grass Roots,
Thee Headcoats,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Johnny Clarke,
Average White Band,
Gong,
Whodini,
Davy DMX,
PIL,
Jerry's Kids,
Public Enemy,
Maleditus Sound,
Lungfish,
Black Pus,
Max Romeo,
Andrew Hill,
The Smoke,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Niagra,
Bobby Sherman,
Theoretical Girls,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The J.B.'s,
Girls At Our Best!,
China Crisis,
Vainqueur,
Bauhaus,
Deakin,
Todd Rundgren,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Jeff Lynne,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Leaves,
The Fire Engines,
Colin Newman,
Minny Pops,
Letta Mbulu,
Yazoo,
Easy Going,
Faust,
Funkadelic,
Peter & Gordon,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Neu!,
Pharoah Sanders,
Sonny Sharrock,
T. Rex,
Angry Samoans,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Walker Brothers,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Danielle Patucci,
The Cramps,
the Sonics,
Harpers Bizarre,
Oneida, Oneida, Oneida, Oneida.
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.