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 Azerbaijan and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 UT to the crunk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Maleditus Sound. All the underground hits.
All Eyeless In Gaza tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Man Eating Sloth,
The Count Five,
The Slits,
Susan Cadogan,
The Slackers,
Charles Mingus,
Organ,
The Dead C,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Dark Day,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Young Marble Giants,
Ultra Naté,
Pet Shop Boys,
Joyce Sims,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Selecter,
Faust,
Juan Atkins,
Black Pus,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Blossom Toes,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Marvin Gaye,
Janne Schatter,
The Cramps,
Ohio Players,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Barrington Levy,
Donald Byrd,
The Gladiators,
The Mummies,
Buzzcocks,
The Pretty Things,
Mary Jane Girls,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Jeru the Damaja,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The J.B.'s,
MDC,
Marine Girls,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Moleskins,
Ronan,
The Vogues,
Minutemen,
Public Enemy,
Fatback Band,
Cal Tjader,
Tim Buckley,
Deepchord,
Banda Bassotti,
Newcleus,
Theoretical Girls,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
D'Angelo,
Franke,
Japan,
Curtis Mayfield,
Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division.
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.