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 Greece and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the snare 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 Scrapy to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 T. Rex. All the underground hits.
All Television Personalities tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Au Pairs 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Agent Orange 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?
Kenny Larkin,
The Buckinghams,
Sister Nancy,
The Dirtbombs,
Bronski Beat,
Malaria!,
Yazoo,
Pussy Galore,
Iggy Pop,
The Modern Lovers,
Johnny Clarke,
Television Personalities,
Deadbeat,
The Doobie Brothers,
Don Cherry,
Gang Starr,
Infiniti,
Magazine,
Monolake,
Lakeside,
Eric B and Rakim,
Robert Görl,
Arthur Verocai,
Sixth Finger,
Eddi Front,
Scientists,
Michelle Simonal,
Supertramp,
Essential Logic,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
the Slits,
Amazonics,
MC5,
Main Source,
Joe Finger,
Fat Boys,
L. Decosne,
Grey Daturas,
Dorothy Ashby,
Sparks,
Maleditus Sound,
Masters at Work,
Judy Mowatt,
The American Breed,
Rapeman,
Cheater Slicks,
EPMD,
Blossom Toes,
Laurel Aitken,
Japan,
Babytalk,
Popol Vuh,
Eric Copeland,
The Red Krayola,
Unwound,
Al Stewart,
the Swans,
Symarip,
Television,
Black Moon,
Con Funk Shun,
Hardrive,
Lyres, Lyres, Lyres, Lyres.
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.