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 Singapore and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 The Motions to the dance kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Peter and Kerry. All the underground hits.
All Reagan Youth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Amon Düül II,
The Litter,
Wire,
Soulsonic Force,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Smoke,
Bauhaus,
Ultravox,
The J.B.'s,
Ultimate Spinach,
World's Most,
Rites of Spring,
ABC,
Rekid,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Fugs,
Sam Rivers,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Fear,
Jeff Lynne,
Crash Course in Science,
Con Funk Shun,
Sight & Sound,
Glambeats Corp.,
Dorothy Ashby,
Yaz,
The Leaves,
Rosa Yemen,
Harry Pussy,
Second Layer,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Cramps,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Mad Mike,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Names,
Flash Fearless,
the Fania All-Stars,
Clear Light,
Saccharine Trust,
The Grass Roots,
L. Decosne,
Patti Smith,
the Germs,
Neil Young,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Cure,
Gang Starr,
Freddie Wadling,
Depeche Mode,
Connie Case,
Pussy Galore,
Sex Pistols,
The Misunderstood,
John Holt,
Lalo Schifrin,
X-Ray Spex,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Robert Görl,
Newcleus,
Inner City,
The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs.
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.