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 Kenya and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Angels of Light & Akron/Family to the jazz kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 New York Dolls. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Byrd tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Minnie Riperton 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Talk Talk record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cybotron,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Boz Scaggs,
Cymande,
Sexual Harrassment,
Gastr Del Sol,
Crime,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Erykah Badu,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Kerrie Biddell,
Fatback Band,
Wolf Eyes,
The J.B.'s,
The Angels of Light,
Blancmange,
Ossler,
Theoretical Girls,
B.T. Express,
Simply Red,
The Busters,
Index,
Pantaleimon,
Inner City,
The Toasters,
World's Most,
Trumans Water,
The Fuzztones,
Mission of Burma,
Technova,
Surgeon,
Todd Rundgren,
Electric Prunes,
The Sound,
Make Up,
Dave Gahan,
Interpol,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Skaos,
The Smoke,
The Vogues,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Pierre Henry,
CMW,
Kenny Larkin,
Sun Ra,
Davy DMX,
These Immortal Souls,
Bauhaus,
Motorama,
Royal Trux,
Alphaville,
Loose Ends,
Ultravox,
Oneida,
The Misunderstood,
Jeff Lynne,
a-ha,
Sam Rivers, Sam Rivers, Sam Rivers, Sam Rivers.
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.