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 Latvia and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Tokyo.
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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang to the rap 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 Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All Ultravox tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Peanut Butter Conspiracy 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a London Community Gospel Choir record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monolake,
Dorothy Ashby,
Lakeside,
Godley & Creme,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Blake Baxter,
8 Eyed Spy,
the Fania All-Stars,
the Normal,
Model 500,
Alice Coltrane,
Oneida,
June of 44,
the Soft Cell,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Pussy Galore,
R.M.O.,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Robert Görl,
Erasure,
Fela Kuti,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Lindisfarne,
Iggy Pop,
Underground Resistance,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The New Christs,
The Smoke,
Peter and Kerry,
The American Breed,
Thee Headcoats,
Andrew Hill,
Television,
Tubeway Army,
Maurizio,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Pharoah Sanders,
Bluetip,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Fugs,
Make Up,
Nirvana,
Sister Nancy,
Jandek,
Schoolly D,
Brand Nubian,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Goldenarms,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Stereo Dub,
Warsaw,
The Happenings,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Pantaleimon,
Sex Pistols,
Funky Four + One,
The Shadows of Knight,
Sight & Sound,
The Mojo Men,
Theoretical Girls,
Suburban Knight,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Golliwogs, The Golliwogs, The Golliwogs, The Golliwogs.
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.