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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1971 at the first Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Darondo to the electroclash 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 Max Romeo. All the underground hits.
All Los Fastidios tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dorothy Ashby 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispy Ambulance record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dead C,
Circle Jerks,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Charles Mingus,
The Real Kids,
Harry Pussy,
Public Enemy,
DJ Style,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Techniques,
Deakin,
Roy Ayers,
Bobby Sherman,
Lalann,
Bad Manners,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Make Up,
Livin' Joy,
B.T. Express,
Black Flag,
Scrapy,
Electric Prunes,
Minnie Riperton,
The Toasters,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Motorama,
Ludus,
Blossom Toes,
Lightning Bolt,
Ituana,
Joy Division,
The American Breed,
Slave,
Eric B and Rakim,
Sällskapet,
The Last Poets,
The Fire Engines,
The Stooges,
Zero Boys,
The Detroit Cobras,
Popol Vuh,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Piero Umiliani,
The Doors,
Dark Day,
the Normal,
EPMD,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Sandy B,
Wolf Eyes,
Arthur Verocai,
Drexciya,
The Slackers,
Pet Shop Boys,
Cheater Slicks,
The Five Americans,
H. Thieme,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Funkadelic,
Althea and Donna,
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.