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 Ireland and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Techniques to the dance 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 Joey Negro. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Hutcherson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Traffic Nightmare 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Young Rascals record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harpers Bizarre,
Gichy Dan,
June of 44,
Sam Rivers,
Jerry's Kids,
Motorama,
Hardrive,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Procol Harum,
Agitation Free,
Bush Tetras,
Saccharine Trust,
Cluster,
Simply Red,
Thompson Twins,
Average White Band,
This Heat,
K-Klass,
Marc Almond,
Pantytec,
Newcleus,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Dave Clark Five,
Panda Bear,
Outsiders,
Blake Baxter,
Symarip,
Maleditus Sound,
Crooked Eye,
Fear,
Severed Heads,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Walker Brothers,
Whodini,
Donny Hathaway,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Jacob Miller,
Janne Schatter,
Barbara Tucker,
Smog,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Livin' Joy,
Inner City,
DJ Style,
Boredoms,
Rufus Thomas,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Slits,
Pere Ubu,
Kurtis Blow,
Rotary Connection,
Patti Smith,
Bob Dylan,
Loose Ends,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Crispian St. Peters,
Soft Machine,
The Doors,
Roxy Music,
New Order,
Lower 48,
the Normal,
Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys.
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.