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 Congo and from Portland.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish to the techno kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Todd Terry. All the underground hits.
All Steve Hackett tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Wake record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Panda Bear record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Technova,
Sun City Girls,
Cal Tjader,
Eric Dolphy,
Organ,
Monolake,
Quantec,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Amazonics,
Black Bananas,
Susan Cadogan,
Lakeside,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Fluxion,
the Slits,
H. Thieme,
Rakim,
In Retrospect,
Crime,
The Toasters,
The Motions,
Mo-Dettes,
Zapp,
The Fuzztones,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Blossom Toes,
Severed Heads,
Make Up,
Brass Construction,
LL Cool J,
Gerry Rafferty,
Maurizio,
Tropical Tobacco,
Grauzone,
MDC,
The Golliwogs,
La Düsseldorf,
Wolf Eyes,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Eurythmics,
Roy Ayers,
DNA,
Man Parrish,
The Pop Group,
The Modern Lovers,
Sixth Finger,
Marine Girls,
the Fania All-Stars,
Kenny Larkin,
Soul Sonic Force,
Roxy Music,
Fad Gadget,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Crispy Ambulance,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Radiohead,
Scott Walker,
The Dave Clark Five,
A Certain Ratio,
Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson.
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.