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 Uzbekistan and from Columbus.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Banda Bassotti to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 U.S. Maple. All the underground hits.
All Gang Green tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Seeds 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The United States of America record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eden Ahbez,
Chris & Cosey,
ABBA,
Marine Girls,
Alton Ellis,
Joensuu 1685,
The Pop Group,
Gabor Szabo,
Pierre Henry,
Model 500,
The Monks,
Kenny Larkin,
Icehouse,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Neon Judgement,
The Sound,
Swans,
DJ Sneak,
Bob Dylan,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Ken Boothe,
Urselle,
the Association,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Mission of Burma,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Das Ding,
The Fuzztones,
The Moody Blues,
Ultimate Spinach,
Cal Tjader,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Divine Comedy,
Motorama,
Tom Boy,
Ohio Players,
Max Romeo,
Gerry Rafferty,
In Retrospect,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Alphaville,
Freddie Wadling,
The Selecter,
Gastr Del Sol,
Easy Going,
Gang Gang Dance,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Deepchord,
Procol Harum,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Tears for Fears,
The Red Krayola,
Crime,
Metal Thangz,
Parry Music,
Joey Negro,
Kerri Chandler,
The Standells,
the Sonics,
Royal Trux,
Barrington Levy,
Joyce Sims,
Sällskapet, Sällskapet, Sällskapet, Sällskapet.
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.