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 Togo and from Mexico City.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Paris.
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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Bang on a Can All-Stars to the dance 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 Jacques Brel. All the underground hits.
All Yusef Lateef tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Manfred Mann's Earth Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 an arpeggiator and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pet Shop Boys 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?
Siglo XX,
Gong,
This Heat,
Man Eating Sloth,
JFA,
Idris Muhammad,
Lebanon Hanover,
Ultravox,
Sarah Menescal,
Los Fastidios,
Arthur Verocai,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Joyce Sims,
Ice-T,
Malaria!,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Black Dice,
Rakim,
Schoolly D,
Gastr Del Sol,
Supertramp,
Index,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Electric Prunes,
The Monks,
Duran Duran,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Iggy Pop,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Eli Mardock,
Visage,
Tommy Roe,
Q65,
Radiopuhelimet,
Dark Day,
Charles Mingus,
The Dirtbombs,
The Buckinghams,
Theoretical Girls,
the Swans,
Hardrive,
The Kinks,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Royal Trux,
The Gories,
Arcadia,
Minutemen,
Aaron Thompson,
Flipper,
Peter and Kerry,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Archie Shepp,
Fluxion,
Harmonia,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Barracudas,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Moody Blues,
David Axelrod, David Axelrod, David Axelrod, David Axelrod.
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.