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 Denmark and from Seoul.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane to the rap kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Black Bananas. All the underground hits.
All Alice Coltrane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deepchord record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Sonics record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pierre Henry,
Jacques Brel,
Royal Trux,
Camouflage,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Arcadia,
Jeff Lynne,
PIL,
John Lydon,
Johnny Osbourne,
Reuben Wilson,
Kool Moe Dee,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
James White and The Blacks,
Deepchord,
World's Most,
Yusef Lateef,
Lindisfarne,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Byron Stingily,
Robert Wyatt,
Josef K,
Sun City Girls,
Vladislav Delay,
Y Pants,
Chrome,
Joey Negro,
The Sound,
48th St. Collective,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Tears for Fears,
Rufus Thomas,
The Slits,
The Barracudas,
Gang Green,
Ossler,
Al Stewart,
Eddi Front,
Country Teasers,
The Saints,
Franke,
The Standells,
China Crisis,
Fugazi,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Pretty Things,
Ultravox,
Severed Heads,
Mark Hollis,
Mandrill,
the Human League,
Pharoah Sanders,
Donald Byrd,
Minny Pops,
Nation of Ulysses,
Fatback Band,
The Fugs,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
the Slits, the Slits, the Slits, the Slits.
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.