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 Korea South and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Mexico City.
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 rhodes 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 Siglo XX to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed & Metallica tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Busters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 a marimba and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Adolescents record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sexual Harrassment,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Neu!,
Patti Smith,
Pylon,
Joe Finger,
Junior Murvin,
The Slits,
Man Eating Sloth,
Black Moon,
Carl Craig,
Camberwell Now,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Wally Richardson,
Maurizio,
The Walker Brothers,
Negative Approach,
The Last Poets,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Gil Scott Heron,
Yusef Lateef,
X-101,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Minor Threat,
The Pretty Things,
Deepchord,
Pantaleimon,
Sonny Sharrock,
Bush Tetras,
Aural Exciters,
Janne Schatter,
Saccharine Trust,
Tres Demented,
Popol Vuh,
Jimmy McGriff,
U.S. Maple,
Spoonie Gee,
Zapp,
Wasted Youth,
Ronan,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Mars,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Adolescents,
Ten City,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Lindisfarne,
Moebius,
Mary Jane Girls,
Cameo,
Stiv Bators,
Mark Hollis,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Girls At Our Best!,
Barry Ungar,
Von Mondo,
The Barracudas,
Crime,
Lalo Schifrin,
June Days,
A Certain Ratio,
Drive Like Jehu,
Heavy D & The Boyz, Heavy D & The Boyz, Heavy D & The Boyz, Heavy D & The Boyz.
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.