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 Burundi and from Lyon.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 snare 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 The Black Dice to the techno 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 Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft. All the underground hits.
All Sad Lovers and Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tears for Fears record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 marimba and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Matthew Halsall record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Electric Light Orchestra,
Eve St. Jones,
the Bar-Kays,
New Order,
Black Pus,
Agent Orange,
Absolute Body Control,
Fat Boys,
Ultimate Spinach,
OOIOO,
The Selecter,
Main Source,
Gang Gang Dance,
Ohio Players,
Zapp,
Sixth Finger,
Grauzone,
The Detroit Cobras,
John Coltrane,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Drive Like Jehu,
Little Man,
Index,
Delon & Dalcan,
Frankie Knuckles,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Bobby Womack,
The Kinks,
Rosa Yemen,
Camouflage,
Andrew Hill,
Flash Fearless,
a-ha,
Altered Images,
Chris Corsano,
the Slits,
Subhumans,
Cecil Taylor,
Roy Ayers,
Moss Icon,
The Cure,
Tropical Tobacco,
Sandy B,
Ronnie Foster,
Pole,
Colin Newman,
Amazonics,
Deakin,
Television,
Vainqueur,
Barry Ungar,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Human League,
Mad Mike,
The Knickerbockers,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Danielle Patucci,
The Misunderstood,
Stiv Bators,
ABBA,
The Mummies,
Scratch Acid, Scratch Acid, Scratch Acid, Scratch Acid.
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.