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 El Salvador and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 B.T. Express to the rap 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 X-102. All the underground hits.
All Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Shoche record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dead Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Magazine,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Pagans,
Harpers Bizarre,
cv313,
The Gun Club,
Newcleus,
John Cale,
Fat Boys,
Babytalk,
Cal Tjader,
Ralphi Rosario,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Kenny Larkin,
Tres Demented,
Flipper,
Charles Mingus,
The Slackers,
Barrington Levy,
Laurel Aitken,
K-Klass,
Sexual Harrassment,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
T.S.O.L.,
Blake Baxter,
Unrelated Segments,
Royal Trux,
Crispian St. Peters,
Traffic Nightmare,
the Sonics,
Jawbox,
Nas,
The Victims,
Mandrill,
The Invisible,
The Last Poets,
Quantec,
Popol Vuh,
Bluetip,
Bauhaus,
Delta 5,
Oblivians,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Joyce Sims,
The Happenings,
X-101,
Pharoah Sanders,
Jandek,
Patti Smith,
Archie Shepp,
Surgeon,
Sex Pistols,
Can,
Henry Cow,
Schoolly D,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Gang Green,
Jerry's Kids,
Rapeman,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Shadows of Knight,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, Thinking Fellers Union Local 282.
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.