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 Ukraine and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Zero Boys to the disco 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 Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All U.S. Maple tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barrington Levy 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Royal Trux record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar 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?
Brothers Johnson,
John Cale,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Residents,
Man Eating Sloth,
Ronan,
Connie Case,
The Leaves,
Subhumans,
Robert Wyatt,
10cc,
T. Rex,
Girls At Our Best!,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Associates,
The Dirtbombs,
Harry Pussy,
Skarface,
Television,
Mr. Review,
Joyce Sims,
The Electric Prunes,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Index,
JFA,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Interpol,
Kenny Larkin,
Mission of Burma,
Symarip,
Crash Course in Science,
CMW,
Cybotron,
Fatback Band,
the Slits,
The Golliwogs,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Traffic Nightmare,
Jawbox,
The Count Five,
Anthony Braxton,
Agitation Free,
The Index,
Black Moon,
Stetsasonic,
Marshall Jefferson,
DNA,
DJ Sneak,
The Detroit Cobras,
Grandmaster Flash,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Bad Manners,
Chrome,
Pulsallama,
Mary Jane Girls,
Archie Shepp,
Monks,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Slits,
The Dead C,
Stereo Dub,
Groovy Waters,
Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion.
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.