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 Guinea-Bissau and from Paris.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 güiro 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 The Fugs to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch. All the underground hits.
All Technova tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pantytec record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Khruangbin record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Audionom,
The United States of America,
Nation of Ulysses,
OOIOO,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Eli Mardock,
Ten City,
Japan,
Faraquet,
The Dirtbombs,
The Mummies,
ABC,
Royal Trux,
Hoover,
The Sonics,
The Invisible,
Vainqueur,
Man Parrish,
Matthew Halsall,
This Heat,
Albert Ayler,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
T. Rex,
Circle Jerks,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Gang Green,
Aswad,
The Buckinghams,
Prince Buster,
Quantec,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Charles Mingus,
The Happenings,
EPMD,
Amazonics,
Pole,
H. Thieme,
ABBA,
Section 25,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Fad Gadget,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Star Department,
Joe Finger,
Oblivians,
Bobby Womack,
Lee Hazlewood,
These Immortal Souls,
Bauhaus,
Jeff Lynne,
The Victims,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Thee Headcoats,
Avey Tare,
Kas Product,
Bobby Byrd,
The Skatalites,
Black Moon,
Tom Boy, Tom Boy, Tom Boy, Tom Boy.
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.