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 Niger and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 theremin 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 The Index to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Brick. All the underground hits.
All Peter & Gordon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every James Chance & The Contortions record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Minutemen record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cheater Slicks,
Sexual Harrassment,
the Fania All-Stars,
Angry Samoans,
Kenny Larkin,
DNA,
Derrick Morgan,
Von Mondo,
This Heat,
Malaria!,
Amazonics,
Arthur Verocai,
David Bowie,
A Flock of Seagulls,
L. Decosne,
The United States of America,
Harry Pussy,
Y Pants,
Mo-Dettes,
Bluetip,
Television Personalities,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Country Teasers,
Siglo XX,
Brass Construction,
X-101,
Lou Reed,
Qualms,
Delta 5,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Buckinghams,
Tim Buckley,
Black Moon,
Fatback Band,
Barclay James Harvest,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Tropical Tobacco,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Parry Music,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Young Rascals,
The Cowsills,
Anthony Braxton,
Neil Young,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Cramps,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Monolake,
The Selecter,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Black Sheep,
The Angels of Light,
In Retrospect,
Dawn Penn,
Godley & Creme,
Royal Trux,
Davy DMX,
Bang On A Can,
Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone, Grauzone.
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.