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 Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Liaisons Dangereuses to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 La Düsseldorf. All the underground hits.
All Saccharine Trust tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Smog record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 an arpeggiator and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Pretty Things record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Amazonics,
Television,
Depeche Mode,
Desert Stars,
Jeff Mills,
Excepter,
Marshall Jefferson,
X-Ray Spex,
The Saints,
Nirvana,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Quando Quango,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Lucky Dragons,
Eli Mardock,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Gories,
Soft Cell,
The Barracudas,
Avey Tare,
Boogie Down Productions,
Delta 5,
Sandy B,
Rakim,
Cymande,
Ultravox,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Birthday Party,
Leonard Cohen,
Pet Shop Boys,
Nas,
Y Pants,
Masters at Work,
Albert Ayler,
Nation of Ulysses,
Bob Dylan,
The Smoke,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Youth Brigade,
Stereo Dub,
Royal Trux,
The Vogues,
Oneida,
James White and The Blacks,
Urselle,
The Selecter,
Arcadia,
Gang Starr,
Unwound,
Sound Behaviour,
X-102,
Roxette,
Sixth Finger,
John Coltrane,
Cybotron,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Girls At Our Best!,
Niagra,
Country Teasers,
The Busters,
Sugar Minott,
Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily.
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.