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 Maldives and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Intrusion to the punk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Unwound. All the underground hits.
All The Star Department tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sexual Harrassment record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Dead Boys,
The Dirtbombs,
EPMD,
Jimmy McGriff,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Slits,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Inner City,
Barrington Levy,
the Normal,
Ice-T,
Boogie Down Productions,
X-101,
Sixth Finger,
Fear,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Monolake,
Thee Headcoats,
Bob Dylan,
The Fortunes,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Selecter,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Gang Green,
Kas Product,
Judy Mowatt,
Nation of Ulysses,
Harry Pussy,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Jacob Miller,
Angry Samoans,
Quantec,
Letta Mbulu,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Gap Band,
The Offenders,
Arthur Verocai,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Dead C,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Chrome,
Colin Newman,
Jeff Mills,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Silicon Teens,
Jacques Brel,
Glambeats Corp.,
Don Cherry,
F. McDonald,
X-102,
Radiopuhelimet,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Technova,
Gerry Rafferty,
Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman.
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.