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 Ukraine and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1967 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 808 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 Cymande to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Amazonics. All the underground hits.
All The Misunderstood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cluster 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brick record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Lou Christie,
Dead Boys,
Spandau Ballet,
Pagans,
Isaac Hayes,
CMW,
Urselle,
Johnny Clarke,
John Lydon,
Interpol,
Sparks,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Birthday Party,
Robert Görl,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Subhumans,
The United States of America,
Black Moon,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Funkadelic,
Crash Course in Science,
The Associates,
Porter Ricks,
Throbbing Gristle,
Arcadia,
Anakelly,
Black Pus,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Moleskins,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Doors,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Cal Tjader,
Ornette Coleman,
Livin' Joy,
The Real Kids,
Skriet,
Eden Ahbez,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Monks,
Don Cherry,
Dark Day,
Gang Green,
Bauhaus,
Popol Vuh,
The Five Americans,
F. McDonald,
Inner City,
Make Up,
The Dirtbombs,
Suicide,
Sällskapet,
Scrapy,
8 Eyed Spy,
David Bowie,
Supertramp,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Scientists,
Motorama,
Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu.
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.