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 Belgium and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 guitar 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock to the grime kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Rahsaan Roland Kirk. All the underground hits.
All Terrestrial Tones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Anthony Braxton record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 linndrum and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monks,
Mr. Review,
Lakeside,
Funky Four + One,
R.M.O.,
Masters at Work,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Names,
Peter & Gordon,
Nick Fraelich,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Young Rascals,
John Foxx,
Smog,
The Sound,
Marshall Jefferson,
Gang Starr,
The Pretty Things,
the Swans,
Iggy Pop,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Mission of Burma,
Eric Dolphy,
Zapp,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Severed Heads,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Mary Jane Girls,
Motorama,
Absolute Body Control,
Funkadelic,
Arab on Radar,
Reuben Wilson,
Avey Tare,
The Residents,
Quantec,
Bill Near,
Pere Ubu,
The Velvet Underground,
Quadrant,
Khruangbin,
Mars,
The Red Krayola,
Tommy Roe,
Al Stewart,
Saccharine Trust,
Ornette Coleman,
Arthur Verocai,
Robert Wyatt,
Nik Kershaw,
Royal Trux,
Mad Mike,
Sex Pistols,
Max Romeo,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Techniques,
The Doobie Brothers,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Outsiders,
Nils Olav,
The Doors, The Doors, The Doors, The Doors.
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.