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 Laos and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 mellotron 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 Faust to the rap kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Charles Mingus tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kings Of Tomorrow 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kango’s Stein Massive record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Soul II Soul,
48th St. Collective,
Accadde A,
Parry Music,
Thee Headcoats,
The Invisible,
The Toasters,
Bill Wells,
The Selecter,
Don Cherry,
Vladislav Delay,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Average White Band,
Duran Duran,
Moss Icon,
Procol Harum,
The Blackbyrds,
Godley & Creme,
Ludus,
Lou Christie,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Supertramp,
The Standells,
Arab on Radar,
Trumans Water,
Albert Ayler,
The Durutti Column,
Nick Fraelich,
Simply Red,
Rakim,
Terry Callier,
Nico,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Ronnie Foster,
Brass Construction,
Eve St. Jones,
Black Pus,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
8 Eyed Spy,
Newcleus,
Cluster,
Gang of Four,
The Cramps,
Desert Stars,
Terrestrial Tones,
Porter Ricks,
Hasil Adkins,
Grey Daturas,
Pantaleimon,
June of 44,
Funky Four + One,
Todd Terry,
Dawn Penn,
The Moody Blues,
Slick Rick,
Derrick Morgan,
Saccharine Trust,
Aswad,
The Monks,
Lalo Schifrin, Lalo Schifrin, Lalo Schifrin, Lalo Schifrin.
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.