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 Papua New Guinea and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1971 at the first Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the marimba 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 Ultramagnetic MC's to the funk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Magma. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Cosmic Jokers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nico record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Khruangbin,
Magazine,
Radio Birdman,
MDC,
Inner City,
Gabor Szabo,
Lucky Dragons,
June of 44,
The Fortunes,
Arcadia,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Leonard Cohen,
Maurizio,
Y Pants,
Popol Vuh,
Eric B and Rakim,
Ken Boothe,
Isaac Hayes,
Minnie Riperton,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Ultra Naté,
Metal Thangz,
Skarface,
Deepchord,
Brass Construction,
The Happenings,
The Seeds,
Marshall Jefferson,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Fad Gadget,
Pole,
Graham Central Station,
Scrapy,
Kerri Chandler,
ABC,
Ralphi Rosario,
Cybotron,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
World's Most,
Stiv Bators,
The Divine Comedy,
The Martian,
Procol Harum,
Wings,
Massinfluence,
Black Sheep,
Laurel Aitken,
John Lydon,
the Soft Cell,
Stereo Dub,
Circle Jerks,
Pharoah Sanders,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Pantaleimon,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
UT,
Albert Ayler,
The Durutti Column,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Susan Cadogan,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
the Slits, the Slits, the Slits, the Slits.
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.