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 South Sudan and from Delhi.
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 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1971 at the first Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Electric Light Orchestra to the grunge 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 Jacques Brel. All the underground hits.
All Goldenarms tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 808 and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Don Cherry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Walker Brothers,
8 Eyed Spy,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Andrew Hill,
Ultimate Spinach,
Robert Görl,
Crooked Eye,
The Monochrome Set,
Skarface,
the Association,
Public Enemy,
Radio Birdman,
Joey Negro,
Drive Like Jehu,
Lalann,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Cybotron,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Cluster,
Reuben Wilson,
the Germs,
Bauhaus,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Count Five,
Jandek,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Faust,
Royal Trux,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Toasters,
Deepchord,
Soft Machine,
Young Marble Giants,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Knickerbockers,
Sly & The Family Stone,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Circle Jerks,
Judy Mowatt,
Duran Duran,
Jeff Mills,
AZ,
Mad Mike,
Ice-T,
Grey Daturas,
Altered Images,
Scion,
Grauzone,
PIL,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Scratch Acid,
Swans,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Oneida,
Mark Hollis,
U.S. Maple,
Franke,
Stereo Dub,
Pierre Henry,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Durutti Column,
Slave,
The United States of America,
Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson.
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.