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 Ivory Coast and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Barry Ungar to the punk 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 Tres Demented. All the underground hits.
All Echospace tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Frankie Knuckles record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suburban Knight,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Procol Harum,
Tears for Fears,
Sonic Youth,
Bang On A Can,
Iggy Pop,
Silicon Teens,
Faraquet,
Kerrie Biddell,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Donald Byrd,
Joy Division,
Aural Exciters,
The Grass Roots,
Model 500,
Newcleus,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Eli Mardock,
Rufus Thomas,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Monks,
Alice Coltrane,
Drive Like Jehu,
Magma,
Excepter,
Mad Mike,
Tim Buckley,
The American Breed,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Pierre Henry,
Man Eating Sloth,
Rapeman,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
In Retrospect,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Velvet Underground,
Grauzone,
Man Parrish,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Qualms,
Mission of Burma,
Archie Shepp,
Aaron Thompson,
Scott Walker,
The Monochrome Set,
Crime,
Ultra Naté,
Stetsasonic,
Joey Negro,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
New York Dolls,
The Angels of Light,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Unrelated Segments,
Das Ding,
Altered Images,
The Durutti Column,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Laurel Aitken, Laurel Aitken, Laurel Aitken, Laurel Aitken.
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.