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 Monaco and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Eli Mardock to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Terry Callier. All the underground hits.
All The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Real Kids record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tres Demented record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Robert Görl,
MC5,
Patti Smith,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Zeros,
Tom Boy,
John Holt,
Fad Gadget,
Porter Ricks,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Arcadia,
The Happenings,
Babytalk,
Tears for Fears,
Byron Stingily,
Duran Duran,
Zapp,
The Cure,
the Human League,
Marmalade,
Piero Umiliani,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Interpol,
B.T. Express,
Boogie Down Productions,
Outsiders,
Fort Wilson Riot,
CMW,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Connie Case,
Eurythmics,
Ten City,
Little Man,
Barrington Levy,
the Slits,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The American Breed,
Stereo Dub,
Eric Copeland,
X-102,
The Invisible,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Livin' Joy,
Gang Starr,
Stiv Bators,
the Bar-Kays,
DJ Sneak,
Severed Heads,
Nik Kershaw,
Symarip,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Harry Pussy,
Neu!,
Yazoo,
Q65,
Depeche Mode,
Crooked Eye,
Nick Fraelich,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Icehouse,
Underground Resistance, Underground Resistance, Underground Resistance, Underground Resistance.
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.