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 Malawi and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Siouxsie and the Banshees to the funk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Surgeon. All the underground hits.
All Television Personalities tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every X-Ray Spex record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ronnie Foster record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crime,
The American Breed,
Yellowson,
Tubeway Army,
Metal Thangz,
Circle Jerks,
Crispian St. Peters,
Kerri Chandler,
Eli Mardock,
the Bar-Kays,
Television Personalities,
Alphaville,
Khruangbin,
Jeff Lynne,
Fela Kuti,
Max Romeo,
Rites of Spring,
Slave,
Bootsy Collins,
Moss Icon,
Janne Schatter,
Lyres,
Judy Mowatt,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Sexual Harrassment,
Infiniti,
Byron Stingily,
This Heat,
Morten Harket,
Desert Stars,
The Velvet Underground,
the Swans,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Barbara Tucker,
Joensuu 1685,
Kerrie Biddell,
Theoretical Girls,
Pharoah Sanders,
David Bowie,
Scrapy,
Suburban Knight,
Bobby Byrd,
Tom Boy,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Gladiators,
The Neon Judgement,
Scott Walker,
Sällskapet,
Minutemen,
Kevin Saunderson,
Letta Mbulu,
Donald Byrd,
Robert Görl,
Kenny Larkin,
Joyce Sims,
Los Fastidios,
The Real Kids,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Steve Hackett,
Rapeman,
The Grass Roots,
Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman.
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.