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 Brunei and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Man Parrish to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Pharoah Sanders. All the underground hits.
All Au Pairs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Peanut Butter Conspiracy 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Louis and Bebe Barron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Misunderstood,
Moby Grape,
Drexciya,
Susan Cadogan,
Oneida,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Barbara Tucker,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Velvet Underground,
Alton Ellis,
Black Pus,
John Foxx,
Roxette,
Steve Hackett,
The Divine Comedy,
The Remains,
Radio Birdman,
Sugar Minott,
Ten City,
Robert Wyatt,
Royal Trux,
Second Layer,
Alison Limerick,
The Associates,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Neu!,
Camberwell Now,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Count Five,
Gang of Four,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Lightning Bolt,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Joe Finger,
Porter Ricks,
ABC,
Grauzone,
Agent Orange,
Bobby Womack,
Ronan,
A Certain Ratio,
Organ,
Kayak,
Delon & Dalcan,
Scrapy,
Deepchord,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Rotary Connection,
Girls At Our Best!,
Amazonics,
Harry Pussy,
The Raincoats,
Interpol,
The Saints,
Theoretical Girls,
Minor Threat,
Vladislav Delay,
Faust,
Au Pairs,
The Wake,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Bill Near,
Whodini,
Duran Duran, Duran Duran, Duran Duran, Duran Duran.
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.