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 Djibouti and from Philadelphia.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Ralphi Rosario to the punk 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 Gerry Rafferty. All the underground hits.
All The Alarm Clocks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Flock of Seagulls 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Curtis Mayfield record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Chris & Cosey,
Brick,
T.S.O.L.,
Marshall Jefferson,
Pierre Henry,
Tim Buckley,
Von Mondo,
The Litter,
Pere Ubu,
Skriet,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Jimmy McGriff,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Alice Coltrane,
Zapp,
the Sonics,
Donny Hathaway,
Main Source,
Big Daddy Kane,
Pylon,
Maurizio,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Vogues,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Shadows of Knight,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Monks,
Saccharine Trust,
Ten City,
Zero Boys,
Ken Boothe,
Lightning Bolt,
Malaria!,
Wings,
The Young Rascals,
Gang of Four,
Peter & Gordon,
Drive Like Jehu,
Cymande,
Yusef Lateef,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Doors,
Neu!,
Khruangbin,
Hasil Adkins,
Mr. Review,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Infiniti,
Dave Gahan,
Nick Fraelich,
Henry Cow,
The Fuzztones,
Funky Four + One,
John Lydon,
Outsiders,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Lou Reed,
Essential Logic,
Ponytail,
Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants, Sad Lovers and Giants.
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.