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 Australia and from Halifax.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1966 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 rhodes 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 Sarah Menescal to the dance 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 Half Japanese. All the underground hits.
All Glenn Branca tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Talk Talk record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 a synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Khruangbin record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Bananas,
Moby Grape,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Ten City,
Hoover,
The Pretty Things,
Cybotron,
The Martian,
Byron Stingily,
Nik Kershaw,
The Gories,
Arcadia,
B.T. Express,
Public Image Ltd.,
Derrick May,
Terry Callier,
Deadbeat,
The Golliwogs,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Rhythm & Sound,
Bobby Byrd,
Can,
Radio Birdman,
Piero Umiliani,
Black Flag,
The Fall,
The Names,
James White and The Blacks,
The Black Dice,
Skarface,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Peter & Gordon,
The Searchers,
Average White Band,
The Victims,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Moleskins,
Ice-T,
One Last Wish,
The Walker Brothers,
Popol Vuh,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Soulsonic Force,
Lalann,
D'Angelo,
The Cowsills,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Depeche Mode,
U.S. Maple,
Fugazi,
Massinfluence,
The Dave Clark Five,
Magma,
The Knickerbockers,
Black Sheep,
Prince Buster,
Scion,
Groovy Waters,
Black Pus,
Sarah Menescal,
The Residents, The Residents, The Residents, The Residents.
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.