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 Lithuania and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 spring reverb 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 Spoonie Gee 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 Nation of Ulysses. All the underground hits.
All Don Cherry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Moleskins record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pantaleimon,
The Selecter,
Cybotron,
John Foxx,
Eric Dolphy,
Patti Smith,
Barclay James Harvest,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Warren Ellis,
Skriet,
H. Thieme,
Royal Trux,
Todd Rundgren,
Aaron Thompson,
The Moleskins,
Nirvana,
Surgeon,
Donny Hathaway,
Stetsasonic,
Marvin Gaye,
Thee Headcoats,
Terrestrial Tones,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Quando Quango,
Young Marble Giants,
ABBA,
The Monks,
The Flesh Eaters,
The J.B.'s,
Amon Düül II,
Maurizio,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Main Source,
Amazonics,
Gang Green,
The Detroit Cobras,
Masters at Work,
Althea and Donna,
Lightning Bolt,
Brand Nubian,
Buzzcocks,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Severed Heads,
Suburban Knight,
Ituana,
The Count Five,
Desert Stars,
Crooked Eye,
The Electric Prunes,
Lungfish,
One Last Wish,
Sister Nancy,
Faraquet,
JFA,
The Zeros,
a-ha,
Flash Fearless,
Scrapy,
The Buckinghams,
Dark Day,
The Red Krayola,
Blake Baxter,
The Cure,
Interpol, Interpol, Interpol, Interpol.
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.