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 Cameroon and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Bremen.
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 Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Lalann to the funk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. All the underground hits.
All Joy Division tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Warsaw 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Second Layer,
Vainqueur,
Bill Near,
Warsaw,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Sixth Finger,
Moby Grape,
Kaleidoscope,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Barry Ungar,
The Cure,
Lucky Dragons,
The Leaves,
Marine Girls,
Fatback Band,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Monks,
John Coltrane,
Mantronix,
Piero Umiliani,
Liliput,
The Modern Lovers,
Eli Mardock,
Wally Richardson,
E-Dancer,
the Human League,
Suburban Knight,
Robert Görl,
Lalo Schifrin,
Wasted Youth,
Sun Ra,
Sällskapet,
The Detroit Cobras,
Gang Green,
Harpers Bizarre,
Glenn Branca,
Intrusion,
Trumans Water,
Duran Duran,
The Last Poets,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Gerry Rafferty,
Eurythmics,
Boogie Down Productions,
Basic Channel,
Suicide,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Zeros,
The Saints,
Byron Stingily,
Arab on Radar,
The Birthday Party,
The Shadows of Knight,
Severed Heads,
The Index,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Smiths,
The Standells,
Sparks,
Wolf Eyes,
Harry Pussy,
Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano.
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.