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 Romania and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Joe Finger to the jazz kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Crispian St. Peters. All the underground hits.
All Cal Tjader tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pole record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Saccharine Trust,
The Red Krayola,
In Retrospect,
The Doobie Brothers,
Scratch Acid,
Scott Walker,
Nation of Ulysses,
Bauhaus,
The Cure,
A Certain Ratio,
Visage,
The Offenders,
Sixth Finger,
The Grass Roots,
Unwound,
Slave,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Harmonia,
Piero Umiliani,
Vainqueur,
The Neon Judgement,
Suicide,
Bang On A Can,
MDC,
Bobby Sherman,
Organ,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Au Pairs,
Kayak,
Angry Samoans,
The Blackbyrds,
Man Eating Sloth,
Amazonics,
Lou Reed,
Minutemen,
Harry Pussy,
Mission of Burma,
Kurtis Blow,
Accadde A,
The Electric Prunes,
Dave Gahan,
Ultravox,
Pylon,
Deakin,
B.T. Express,
Lucky Dragons,
Ultimate Spinach,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Ituana,
The Dirtbombs,
The Moody Blues,
Cal Tjader,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
T. Rex,
Young Marble Giants,
Donald Byrd,
Rites of Spring,
Gang of Four,
Kenny Larkin,
Underground Resistance,
Grey Daturas,
The American Breed, The American Breed, The American Breed, The American Breed.
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.