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 Slovenia and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 güiro 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 The Moleskins to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Fifty Foot Hose. All the underground hits.
All Derrick May tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arthur Verocai record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terry Callier record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Traffic Nightmare,
Bluetip,
Smog,
Scrapy,
Circle Jerks,
Derrick May,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Peter and Kerry,
Mad Mike,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Model 500,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Soft Cell,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Anakelly,
June Days,
Mantronix,
Ultra Naté,
The Invisible,
Ituana,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Sexual Harrassment,
Pussy Galore,
Big Daddy Kane,
Outsiders,
The Slits,
Johnny Clarke,
Dark Day,
Fatback Band,
The Cramps,
Skaos,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Joey Negro,
Marcia Griffiths,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Sun Ra,
ABC,
Faust,
Bauhaus,
Jerry's Kids,
K-Klass,
Ludus,
Donny Hathaway,
The Divine Comedy,
The Saints,
Nation of Ulysses,
Camberwell Now,
Moss Icon,
The Sound,
Television,
Theoretical Girls,
Skarface,
Wally Richardson,
Delta 5,
The Electric Prunes,
Funkadelic,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Martian,
Easy Going,
The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs.
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.