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 Panama and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Mighty Diamonds to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Charles Mingus. All the underground hits.
All Lebanon Hanover tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mary Jane Girls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 spring reverb and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ajijia Myrayebe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
R.M.O.,
Boredoms,
Black Sheep,
D'Angelo,
Kaleidoscope,
Gregory Isaacs,
Fugazi,
Quando Quango,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Radio Birdman,
Terry Callier,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Terrestrial Tones,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
the Sonics,
The Mojo Men,
The Residents,
Animal Collective,
Electric Prunes,
Von Mondo,
Interpol,
Crispian St. Peters,
Jawbox,
Joyce Sims,
Harpers Bizarre,
Alphaville,
Sun City Girls,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Bob Dylan,
Pagans,
Bluetip,
Shoche,
Sight & Sound,
Deadbeat,
Don Cherry,
Agent Orange,
Inner City,
Severed Heads,
The Red Krayola,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Throbbing Gristle,
Fat Boys,
Moebius,
Delta 5,
Talk Talk,
Bootsy Collins,
The Motions,
The Standells,
Icehouse,
Brass Construction,
Wolf Eyes,
The Fuzztones,
Dennis Brown,
Joe Finger,
The Toasters,
Nation of Ulysses,
Byron Stingily,
Schoolly D,
Panda Bear,
John Lydon,
Funkadelic,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Robert Wyatt, Robert Wyatt, Robert Wyatt, Robert Wyatt.
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.