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 Guinea and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Stockholm.
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 808 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 Tomorrow to the grime kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Royal Family And The Poor. All the underground hits.
All Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Freddie Wadling record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 clarinet 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 güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brothers Johnson,
Q65,
Amon Düül,
In Retrospect,
Ken Boothe,
Fat Boys,
Unrelated Segments,
Kenny Larkin,
E-Dancer,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Andrew Hill,
Altered Images,
Essential Logic,
The Doors,
Neil Young,
Barclay James Harvest,
Crispian St. Peters,
Motorama,
Skriet,
Pet Shop Boys,
Tres Demented,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Jawbox,
Tomorrow,
Lungfish,
Bad Manners,
Boredoms,
the Sonics,
Television Personalities,
Max Romeo,
The Blues Magoos,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Liliput,
Television,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Second Layer,
Don Cherry,
Sällskapet,
Tim Buckley,
Babytalk,
Quadrant,
Marshall Jefferson,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Marmalade,
MC5,
The Star Department,
Sonic Youth,
Darondo,
Roger Hodgson,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Young Rascals,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Eve St. Jones,
Dead Boys,
Chris & Cosey,
The Moody Blues,
Black Flag,
the Swans,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Walker Brothers,
Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans.
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.