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 Malaysia and from Cairo.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Cybotron to the rap 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 ABC. All the underground hits.
All Los Fastidios tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fugs 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?
Kaleidoscope,
Barbara Tucker,
Pussy Galore,
Pantytec,
Sister Nancy,
Malaria!,
Stetsasonic,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Wake,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Public Image Ltd.,
The United States of America,
Deadbeat,
Bronski Beat,
Pantaleimon,
Severed Heads,
Mark Hollis,
H. Thieme,
Electric Prunes,
Tubeway Army,
Neu!,
The Shadows of Knight,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Clear Light,
Cluster,
Jawbox,
Crooked Eye,
Mars,
Scratch Acid,
Fad Gadget,
Symarip,
Throbbing Gristle,
Anthony Braxton,
Jerry's Kids,
Chrome,
The Busters,
James White and The Blacks,
Maurizio,
One Last Wish,
Ultimate Spinach,
Blake Baxter,
Liliput,
Essential Logic,
the Fania All-Stars,
Quadrant,
The J.B.'s,
Warsaw,
Dorothy Ashby,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Make Up,
Skarface,
the Association,
Nik Kershaw,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Nick Fraelich,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Von Mondo,
Motorama,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The American Breed,
Agitation Free, Agitation Free, Agitation Free, Agitation Free.
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.