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 Israel and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 arpeggiator 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 Accadde A to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Wasted Youth. All the underground hits.
All Frankie Knuckles tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Beau Brummels record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 synthesizer and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tropical Tobacco record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ken Boothe,
Suicide,
Buzzcocks,
Lalo Schifrin,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Magma,
Newcleus,
Harry Pussy,
Q65,
Excepter,
Donny Hathaway,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Nik Kershaw,
The Cure,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Pylon,
Harmonia,
The Count Five,
The Mummies,
The Human League,
Tom Boy,
Hardrive,
Mark Hollis,
Soft Machine,
Infiniti,
T.S.O.L.,
The Techniques,
CMW,
Sun City Girls,
New York Dolls,
Fear,
L. Decosne,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Isaac Hayes,
Malaria!,
Stereo Dub,
The Monochrome Set,
D'Angelo,
Lakeside,
Nils Olav,
Country Teasers,
Von Mondo,
Maurizio,
Ultra Naté,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Niagra,
Darondo,
Minor Threat,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Morten Harket,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Quadrant,
The Fugs,
John Holt,
Carl Craig,
Vladislav Delay,
Marmalade,
The Smiths,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Ultimate Spinach, Ultimate Spinach, Ultimate Spinach, Ultimate Spinach.
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.