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 Liechtenstein and from Edmonton.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 clarinet 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 Al Stewart to the punk 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 Throbbing Gristle. All the underground hits.
All Buzzcocks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Robert Görl record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 an organ and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Buzzcocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Standells,
Deadbeat,
La Düsseldorf,
Maleditus Sound,
The Shadows of Knight,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Star Department,
DJ Style,
Fatback Band,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Beau Brummels,
Barrington Levy,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Moleskins,
Minnie Riperton,
The Buckinghams,
Boredoms,
Porter Ricks,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Index,
Subhumans,
Scan 7,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Maurizio,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Joe Smooth,
The Searchers,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Count Five,
Derrick May,
The Mojo Men,
Angry Samoans,
The Selecter,
D'Angelo,
Gong,
The Slits,
Todd Terry,
The Knickerbockers,
Second Layer,
New York Dolls,
Robert Görl,
Patti Smith,
Johnny Clarke,
The Sonics,
Joey Negro,
Freddie Wadling,
Q65,
Aswad,
Bluetip,
Lindisfarne,
The Gap Band,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
T. Rex,
Kerri Chandler,
Unrelated Segments,
The Fall,
Lyres,
Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry.
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.