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 France and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 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 Excepter to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 the Association. All the underground hits.
All Rapeman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gregory Isaacs 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator 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 Human League record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wally Richardson,
Hoover,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Pole,
Don Cherry,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Soft Machine,
Brand Nubian,
Trumans Water,
Judy Mowatt,
Panda Bear,
X-101,
Althea and Donna,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Dead Boys,
Little Man,
Qualms,
Wolf Eyes,
The Tremeloes,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Gories,
Suicide,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
R.M.O.,
Pantaleimon,
The Index,
Faraquet,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Divine Comedy,
Faust,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Hardrive,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Carl Craig,
Pierre Henry,
Nik Kershaw,
Frankie Knuckles,
Sister Nancy,
The American Breed,
Nation of Ulysses,
John Holt,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Public Enemy,
Gastr Del Sol,
Pharoah Sanders,
Eve St. Jones,
Symarip,
Glenn Branca,
Livin' Joy,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Fad Gadget,
Sparks,
Mad Mike,
Tommy Roe,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Talk Talk,
Jeff Mills,
Magma,
Kas Product,
Bill Near,
Radiohead,
The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column.
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.