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 Algeria and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Sexual Harrassment to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 The Real Kids. All the underground hits.
All Heaven 17 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Accadde A 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lungfish,
Swans,
Black Moon,
Skaos,
The Raincoats,
Porter Ricks,
Hot Snakes,
Brick,
The Blackbyrds,
Marmalade,
Von Mondo,
David McCallum,
Faust,
Bang On A Can,
Boz Scaggs,
Todd Rundgren,
Sight & Sound,
Pulsallama,
Jeru the Damaja,
Hasil Adkins,
Soul II Soul,
Cymande,
Tears for Fears,
The Vogues,
Danielle Patucci,
Brothers Johnson,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Glambeats Corp.,
Pierre Henry,
Shoche,
Wally Richardson,
DJ Style,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Gun Club,
Bush Tetras,
Mars,
Dawn Penn,
Buzzcocks,
Dead Boys,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Kaleidoscope,
Man Parrish,
Deepchord,
Thompson Twins,
Sandy B,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Smiths,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Bob Dylan,
Nils Olav,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Subhumans,
Charles Mingus,
Make Up,
Inner City,
PIL,
K-Klass,
Mr. Review,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Crispy Ambulance,
Organ, Organ, Organ, Organ.
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.