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 Madagascar and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 Con Funk Shun to the techno kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Dawn Penn. All the underground hits.
All The Music Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Leonard Cohen record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Yazoo,
Angry Samoans,
The Music Machine,
Tubeway Army,
The Saints,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
T. Rex,
Scott Walker,
Derrick Morgan,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Prince Buster,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Johnny Clarke,
Infiniti,
Khruangbin,
Gastr Del Sol,
Boz Scaggs,
Brick,
The Five Americans,
Mad Mike,
Reuben Wilson,
The Alarm Clocks,
Lalann,
Second Layer,
Robert Wyatt,
Pere Ubu,
The Names,
Bauhaus,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Pantaleimon,
Neu!,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Gang of Four,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Cybotron,
One Last Wish,
Blossom Toes,
Drexciya,
The Angels of Light,
Rufus Thomas,
The Golliwogs,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
U.S. Maple,
Gerry Rafferty,
Outsiders,
Absolute Body Control,
Roxette,
Pylon,
Scientists,
Little Man,
Patti Smith,
Q and Not U,
Surgeon,
The Zeros,
Bizarre Inc.,
AZ,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The American Breed,
Bootsy Collins,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Blackbyrds,
Japan,
John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon.
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.