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 Venezuela and from Winnipeg.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 sitar 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 David McCallum to the crunk 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 Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft. All the underground hits.
All Duran Duran tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Little Man record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 oboe and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dirtbombs 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?
Magma,
Lower 48,
Jeff Mills,
The Smiths,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Johnny Clarke,
Country Teasers,
Moss Icon,
Jeff Lynne,
T.S.O.L.,
Wolf Eyes,
Eve St. Jones,
Suburban Knight,
The Wake,
Carl Craig,
The Monochrome Set,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Mr. Review,
The Star Department,
Main Source,
Gichy Dan,
the Fania All-Stars,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Slackers,
Pylon,
Motorama,
Rekid,
LL Cool J,
Interpol,
Oneida,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Groovy Waters,
Pulsallama,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Fall,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Blackbyrds,
Sister Nancy,
Symarip,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Althea and Donna,
Spandau Ballet,
Flipper,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Trojans,
Marvin Gaye,
Moby Grape,
Isaac Hayes,
Black Bananas,
Talk Talk,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Agent Orange,
H. Thieme,
Electric Prunes,
Wings,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Bush Tetras,
Soft Cell,
Hashim,
Crooked Eye,
Frankie Knuckles,
Gil Scott Heron,
Niagra, Niagra, Niagra, Niagra.
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.