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 Micronesia and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Gian Franco Pienzio to the grunge 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 48th St. Collective. All the underground hits.
All Freddie Wadling tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Steve Hackett record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 güiro and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Offenders record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fort Wilson Riot,
Nico,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Subhumans,
Freddie Wadling,
Mary Jane Girls,
Ornette Coleman,
Eric B and Rakim,
Josef K,
Talk Talk,
Das Ding,
Slave,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Bobby Sherman,
Panda Bear,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Buckinghams,
Easy Going,
Reagan Youth,
Donny Hathaway,
Bang On A Can,
The Walker Brothers,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Joy Division,
Yazoo,
Monks,
Jacques Brel,
The Dirtbombs,
John Cale,
David Axelrod,
The Five Americans,
Franke,
Audionom,
ABBA,
Bush Tetras,
Barclay James Harvest,
Zero Boys,
Harpers Bizarre,
Technova,
Alphaville,
Sandy B,
The Divine Comedy,
Sonic Youth,
Nirvana,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Drexciya,
Robert Görl,
Q65,
Darondo,
Wire,
Sun Ra,
The Mummies,
Black Bananas,
EPMD,
L. Decosne,
Minutemen,
Buzzcocks,
Morten Harket,
Clear Light,
Wasted Youth,
Little Man, Little Man, Little Man, Little Man.
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.