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 Zimbabwe and from Manchester.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the oboe 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 Throbbing Gristle to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Mr. Review. All the underground hits.
All Rahsaan Roland Kirk tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Absolute Body Control record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 an arpeggiator and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 8 Eyed Spy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Blackbyrds,
The Dead C,
Bluetip,
the Swans,
the Germs,
Sexual Harrassment,
Man Eating Sloth,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Moebius,
Spandau Ballet,
Bill Wells,
Byron Stingily,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Das Ding,
Marmalade,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Metal Thangz,
Sex Pistols,
Connie Case,
Television,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Parry Music,
The Index,
Wally Richardson,
The Birthday Party,
Franke,
Tim Buckley,
Michelle Simonal,
This Heat,
Todd Terry,
UT,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Litter,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Babytalk,
The Residents,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Tres Demented,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Gun Club,
The Smoke,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Ronnie Foster,
Brick,
Shoche,
the Normal,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Bobby Sherman,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
John Cale,
Robert Hood,
Livin' Joy,
The Gories,
Delta 5,
Ludus,
Rapeman,
Henry Cow,
The Vogues,
Ossler,
The Knickerbockers,
The Stooges, The Stooges, The Stooges, The Stooges.
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.