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 Spain and from Shanghai.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the marimba 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 Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Groovy Waters. All the underground hits.
All Echospace tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crash Course in Science record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 an arpeggiator and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Television record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fifty Foot Hose,
Dave Gahan,
Jeff Lynne,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Underground Resistance,
Minny Pops,
Morten Harket,
Juan Atkins,
June of 44,
Dark Day,
Gang Gang Dance,
Bill Wells,
Thee Headcoats,
Andrew Hill,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Visage,
Faust,
Lucky Dragons,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Robert Hood,
Bush Tetras,
Pulsallama,
Suburban Knight,
Althea and Donna,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Rosa Yemen,
Ultravox,
Ituana,
Soul II Soul,
Swans,
Marshall Jefferson,
Tommy Roe,
Metal Thangz,
Hot Snakes,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
CMW,
The American Breed,
K-Klass,
Masters at Work,
The Grass Roots,
Das Ding,
Cluster,
Iggy Pop,
Radiohead,
Oblivians,
Q and Not U,
Nirvana,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Star Department,
Babytalk,
H. Thieme,
Chris Corsano,
The Tremeloes,
Ludus,
The Velvet Underground,
Lightning Bolt,
Radio Birdman,
Alphaville,
Deakin,
Kevin Saunderson,
Barbara Tucker,
Grandmaster Flash,
Freddie Wadling,
The Litter, The Litter, The Litter, The Litter.
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.