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 Liberia and from Hong Kong.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Charles Mingus to the dance 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 Bill Wells. All the underground hits.
All Minny Pops tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Terry Callier 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 clarinet and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Alice Coltrane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Trojans,
R.M.O.,
Marmalade,
Jeff Mills,
Wasted Youth,
Sarah Menescal,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Cluster,
Crispian St. Peters,
Inner City,
Big Daddy Kane,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Scott Walker,
Goldenarms,
Sun City Girls,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Television Personalities,
Zero Boys,
Albert Ayler,
the Soft Cell,
Mr. Review,
Ultimate Spinach,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Oblivians,
Mantronix,
Harpers Bizarre,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Dead C,
James White and The Blacks,
Pere Ubu,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Sonic Youth,
The Kinks,
The Smiths,
Motorama,
Kayak,
The Cure,
Isaac Hayes,
Sällskapet,
Mars,
Shoche,
The Young Rascals,
Icehouse,
Cybotron,
Black Sheep,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Monks,
the Sonics,
X-Ray Spex,
Crime,
Masters at Work,
Country Joe & The Fish,
X-102,
Adolescents,
Moss Icon, Moss Icon, Moss Icon, Moss Icon.
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.