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 Libya and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the guitar 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 The Modern Lovers to the jazz kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Funky Four + One. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Byrd tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Michelle Simonal record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 an arpeggiator and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Robert Görl record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Byrd,
The Beau Brummels,
Toni Rubio,
Jimmy McGriff,
Lyres,
Eurythmics,
Joe Smooth,
The Monochrome Set,
Man Eating Sloth,
Skarface,
Ronnie Foster,
Maurizio,
D'Angelo,
Nas,
Ultimate Spinach,
The United States of America,
Nils Olav,
Faust,
The New Christs,
Cecil Taylor,
K-Klass,
The Remains,
Swell Maps,
Crooked Eye,
The Wake,
Roy Ayers,
Glenn Branca,
Skriet,
The Dead C,
T. Rex,
Marine Girls,
Smog,
Dennis Brown,
Sparks,
Minnie Riperton,
Essential Logic,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Dark Day,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Neu!,
Scott Walker,
the Sonics,
Soul II Soul,
Gil Scott Heron,
Warsaw,
UT,
Gong,
Adolescents,
Moby Grape,
The Pretty Things,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Donny Hathaway,
Joey Negro,
Soft Cell,
John Coltrane,
World's Most,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Angels of Light,
Morten Harket,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker.
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.