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 Seychelles and from Philadelphia.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 John Cale to the crunk 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 Boz Scaggs. All the underground hits.
All Harry Pussy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Misunderstood record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 synthesizer and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Coltrane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Andrew Hill,
Angry Samoans,
48th St. Collective,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
the Fania All-Stars,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Thompson Twins,
The Index,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Ultimate Spinach,
Kurtis Blow,
Dorothy Ashby,
Bad Manners,
Ohio Players,
The Moody Blues,
Crime,
Robert Wyatt,
Can,
DNA,
the Normal,
Procol Harum,
Sparks,
Jimmy McGriff,
Clear Light,
Kerri Chandler,
Nirvana,
Jeru the Damaja,
X-101,
Oneida,
Kaleidoscope,
Wally Richardson,
Motorama,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Yusef Lateef,
Supertramp,
Jacob Miller,
The Modern Lovers,
Terry Callier,
Masters at Work,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Roger Hodgson,
Delta 5,
Tres Demented,
Lucky Dragons,
K-Klass,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Brick,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Offenders,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Sandy B,
Tim Buckley,
Little Man,
Marc Almond,
Banda Bassotti,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Deadbeat,
The Gladiators,
The United States of America,
the Sonics,
Adolescents,
The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones.
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.