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 Mauritania and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Salvador.
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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Terrestrial Tones to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 The Associates. All the underground hits.
All Faust tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eddi Front 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
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 Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Five Americans,
Harry Pussy,
Bill Near,
Pole,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Gladiators,
Cymande,
Trumans Water,
Sandy B,
Mission of Burma,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Arab on Radar,
The Gap Band,
the Soft Cell,
Electric Prunes,
Silicon Teens,
Pharoah Sanders,
Rosa Yemen,
Drive Like Jehu,
Pierre Henry,
David Axelrod,
Animal Collective,
Radio Birdman,
Pylon,
Laurel Aitken,
Idris Muhammad,
Barbara Tucker,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Mojo Men,
Charles Mingus,
Sex Pistols,
Tears for Fears,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Inner City,
Banda Bassotti,
The Monochrome Set,
Cal Tjader,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Maurizio,
Television,
Spoonie Gee,
Angry Samoans,
Prince Buster,
The Blues Magoos,
Blancmange,
Ronnie Foster,
Circle Jerks,
The Invisible,
Fluxion,
Curtis Mayfield,
China Crisis,
Funkadelic,
Eurythmics,
Robert Hood,
Visage,
Soft Cell,
Freddie Wadling,
Newcleus,
The Happenings,
Reagan Youth,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Delta 5, Delta 5, Delta 5, Delta 5.
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.