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 Russia and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Kerri Chandler to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Black Pus. All the underground hits.
All Agent Orange tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jesper Dahlback record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Patti Smith record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Subhumans,
Black Sheep,
The Move,
Tomorrow,
Boogie Down Productions,
the Swans,
The Techniques,
Excepter,
Connie Case,
Livin' Joy,
Arcadia,
Alison Limerick,
Aaron Thompson,
Gil Scott Heron,
Warsaw,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Theoretical Girls,
Pantytec,
Gerry Rafferty,
Flipper,
Arab on Radar,
Lalo Schifrin,
Saccharine Trust,
Crispian St. Peters,
Organ,
Curtis Mayfield,
10cc,
Rites of Spring,
The Monks,
Outsiders,
Animal Collective,
Visage,
Angry Samoans,
Swans,
Johnny Clarke,
John Holt,
Magma,
Camberwell Now,
Idris Muhammad,
Traffic Nightmare,
Lower 48,
Pole,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Mad Mike,
Kaleidoscope,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Eden Ahbez,
T. Rex,
Circle Jerks,
Royal Trux,
In Retrospect,
The Five Americans,
Rekid,
Los Fastidios,
Electric Prunes,
Reagan Youth,
Sällskapet,
Ken Boothe,
Lalann,
Leonard Cohen,
Scott Walker,
Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman.
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.