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 Czech Republic and from Cairo.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 to the jazz 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 Ludus. All the underground hits.
All T.S.O.L. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eve St. Jones 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 marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jacob Miller record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Au Pairs,
Siglo XX,
Black Pus,
Joey Negro,
The Five Americans,
ABBA,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sister Nancy,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Blues Magoos,
These Immortal Souls,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Sam Rivers,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Slackers,
The Gun Club,
Eurythmics,
Robert Görl,
Stiv Bators,
Ludus,
Marmalade,
The Real Kids,
Gang Starr,
Panda Bear,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Arcadia,
Marc Almond,
Nik Kershaw,
The Residents,
Tommy Roe,
Idris Muhammad,
Donald Byrd,
Pussy Galore,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Motorama,
Suburban Knight,
Rekid,
The Trojans,
D'Angelo,
Cybotron,
Crispy Ambulance,
Moby Grape,
Lungfish,
Tim Buckley,
Banda Bassotti,
David McCallum,
Audionom,
X-Ray Spex,
The Slits,
Saccharine Trust,
Terry Callier,
The Dead C,
Delon & Dalcan,
Sonny Sharrock,
The New Christs,
R.M.O.,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Visage,
Drexciya,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Eli Mardock,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Saints, The Saints, The Saints, The Saints.
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.