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 Australia and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade to the disco 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 Rosa Yemen. All the underground hits.
All The Golliwogs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Skarface 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Throbbing Gristle record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minnie Riperton,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
World's Most,
Isaac Hayes,
Reuben Wilson,
the Sonics,
Johnny Osbourne,
Grey Daturas,
Guru Guru,
Byron Stingily,
Camouflage,
Aloha Tigers,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Birthday Party,
The Grass Roots,
Wasted Youth,
Joe Smooth,
Fear,
Dead Boys,
The Doors,
Archie Shepp,
Vladislav Delay,
Crash Course in Science,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Marine Girls,
Sexual Harrassment,
David Axelrod,
Morten Harket,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
PIL,
Procol Harum,
Chris & Cosey,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Avey Tare,
The Cure,
Crime,
Hasil Adkins,
Andrew Hill,
Gerry Rafferty,
Brand Nubian,
Marcia Griffiths,
Scrapy,
Tom Boy,
Cal Tjader,
Mr. Review,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Litter,
Bootsy Collins,
Althea and Donna,
La Düsseldorf,
Visage,
Popol Vuh,
This Heat,
The Walker Brothers,
Franke,
Cameo,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Lou Reed,
The Monochrome Set,
June of 44,
Pylon, Pylon, Pylon, Pylon.
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.