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 Argentina and from Philadelphia.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 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 Procol Harum to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Saccharine Trust. All the underground hits.
All The Offenders tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Depeche Mode record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Siouxsie and the Banshees record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Robert Wyatt,
Mark Hollis,
The Dirtbombs,
Vainqueur,
Henry Cow,
EPMD,
Soft Cell,
The Litter,
Althea and Donna,
Hardrive,
Jimmy McGriff,
Bush Tetras,
Angry Samoans,
Electric Prunes,
Barrington Levy,
Byron Stingily,
One Last Wish,
Scan 7,
Sam Rivers,
Steve Hackett,
The Durutti Column,
Harry Pussy,
Pierre Henry,
Patti Smith,
London Community Gospel Choir,
John Holt,
The Wake,
The Trojans,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Wasted Youth,
Ronan,
Mantronix,
Mandrill,
The Kinks,
Cal Tjader,
Quando Quango,
Gang Green,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Arcadia,
Skarface,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Aaron Thompson,
Pantaleimon,
Tomorrow,
Throbbing Gristle,
Altered Images,
Eric Copeland,
Harpers Bizarre,
Don Cherry,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Pussy Galore,
10cc,
Hot Snakes,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
John Cale,
The Moody Blues,
K-Klass,
Roger Hodgson,
Bang On A Can,
The Neon Judgement,
The Blackbyrds,
Ossler,
Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey.
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.