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 El Salvador and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Sex Pistols to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Eurythmics. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Move 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terrestrial Tones,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Reagan Youth,
K-Klass,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Robert Hood,
Simply Red,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Black Sheep,
Circle Jerks,
Fad Gadget,
Ultra Naté,
Crispian St. Peters,
Grauzone,
Crash Course in Science,
X-101,
The Happenings,
The Modern Lovers,
Rufus Thomas,
The Invisible,
Blossom Toes,
Derrick May,
Minor Threat,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Maleditus Sound,
The Toasters,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Motions,
L. Decosne,
Malaria!,
Black Moon,
Ralphi Rosario,
Aswad,
World's Most,
Hasil Adkins,
Sex Pistols,
Glenn Branca,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Loose Ends,
Boz Scaggs,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Litter,
Matthew Bourne,
Sun Ra,
Suicide,
Pagans,
Bauhaus,
Deakin,
Surgeon,
Section 25,
Buzzcocks,
Babytalk,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Throbbing Gristle,
X-Ray Spex,
The American Breed,
Mo-Dettes,
Roger Hodgson,
Royal Trux,
MC5, MC5, MC5, MC5.
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.