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 Kenya and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Eric Copeland to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Bobby Sherman. All the underground hits.
All Qualms tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Echo & the Bunnymen 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eyeless In Gaza record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Kinks,
Susan Cadogan,
Bad Manners,
The Motions,
Wasted Youth,
Skarface,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Deakin,
Outsiders,
Black Pus,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
T. Rex,
Spoonie Gee,
Electric Prunes,
Fugazi,
Bootsy Collins,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
June Days,
Pantytec,
Thee Headcoats,
Dead Boys,
David Bowie,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Sparks,
Neu!,
Altered Images,
Yusef Lateef,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Sun City Girls,
Danielle Patucci,
the Bar-Kays,
New Age Steppers,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Gichy Dan,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Crash Course in Science,
Animal Collective,
Piero Umiliani,
Sandy B,
Patti Smith,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Roxette,
Popol Vuh,
Joe Smooth,
Aaron Thompson,
The Raincoats,
Bang On A Can,
Loose Ends,
Pierre Henry,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Los Fastidios,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Fat Boys,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Lyres,
Heaven 17,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Remains,
Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division.
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.