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 Costa Rica and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Scratch Acid to the techno kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Lightning Bolt. All the underground hits.
All Bootsy's Rubber Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Strawberry Alarm Clock record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a D'Angelo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Blake Baxter,
Throbbing Gristle,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Ronnie Foster,
the Association,
The Fire Engines,
Rod Modell,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Moody Blues,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Donny Hathaway,
The Associates,
Whodini,
Scratch Acid,
Desert Stars,
Inner City,
Pylon,
Warren Ellis,
Mars,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Brass Construction,
Barbara Tucker,
June of 44,
Cheater Slicks,
Qualms,
Glenn Branca,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Janne Schatter,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Maurizio,
The Skatalites,
The Real Kids,
Pantaleimon,
DNA,
The Fugs,
The Blues Magoos,
Sugar Minott,
Camberwell Now,
Model 500,
KRS-One,
H. Thieme,
Roxette,
Oblivians,
Brand Nubian,
The New Christs,
The Buckinghams,
Lyres,
Suicide,
Zapp,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Jawbox,
Sexual Harrassment,
Pole,
Visage,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Roger Hodgson,
Dawn Penn,
Symarip, Symarip, Symarip, Symarip.
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.