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 Lesotho and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1971 at the first Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Loose Ends to the grunge kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Drive Like Jehu. All the underground hits.
All DJ Sneak tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Slave 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Magazine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Country Teasers,
Crispy Ambulance,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Lindisfarne,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Byron Stingily,
ABC,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Soul II Soul,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
F. McDonald,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Quantec,
Pharoah Sanders,
Jeff Lynne,
Newcleus,
E-Dancer,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Idris Muhammad,
Bill Wells,
Smog,
Symarip,
Mr. Review,
Scientists,
Electric Prunes,
Q and Not U,
Aural Exciters,
Negative Approach,
Lebanon Hanover,
Sam Rivers,
Colin Newman,
Bobby Womack,
Grandmaster Flash,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Don Cherry,
Ronnie Foster,
Moss Icon,
Swell Maps,
The Searchers,
Marc Almond,
The Litter,
Bobby Hutcherson,
MC5,
UT,
The Leaves,
Faraquet,
Wings,
the Normal,
Adolescents,
The Gladiators,
Eurythmics,
The Fortunes,
the Sonics,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Birthday Party,
Malaria!,
Michelle Simonal,
Todd Terry,
Pulsallama,
Reuben Wilson,
Wasted Youth,
Juan Atkins,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch.
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.