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 Iceland and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 synthesizer 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Gap Band. All the underground hits.
All the Normal tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sex Pistols 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Birthday Party record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Josef K,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Erasure,
Crispy Ambulance,
Camouflage,
Y Pants,
Tommy Roe,
Unrelated Segments,
The Buckinghams,
the Sonics,
Talk Talk,
Bobby Sherman,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Man Parrish,
The Neon Judgement,
The Grass Roots,
Iggy Pop,
F. McDonald,
The Cure,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Gladiators,
Rapeman,
Steve Hackett,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Judy Mowatt,
Marine Girls,
Lebanon Hanover,
B.T. Express,
Neil Young,
Laurel Aitken,
The Smoke,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Absolute Body Control,
Trumans Water,
The Raincoats,
The New Christs,
Rosa Yemen,
Johnny Osbourne,
Sonny Sharrock,
Aloha Tigers,
Brick,
The Sisters of Mercy,
MC5,
Eddi Front,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
One Last Wish,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Gabor Szabo,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Kenny Larkin,
Jeff Mills,
The Searchers,
Icehouse,
Scott Walker,
Television,
Public Enemy,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Can,
The Human League,
The Motions,
The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters.
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.