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 Comoros and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 harpsichord 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 The Blues Magoos to the grime 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 Quando Quango. All the underground hits.
All Siglo XX tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alphaville 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Knickerbockers,
Dual Sessions,
Faust,
Isaac Hayes,
Scion,
Blancmange,
The Gun Club,
Jeff Lynne,
China Crisis,
Clear Light,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Modern Lovers,
The Monks,
Man Parrish,
Black Flag,
Hashim,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Vladislav Delay,
Cecil Taylor,
Davy DMX,
The Black Dice,
Warren Ellis,
Dark Day,
Pantytec,
Electric Prunes,
Con Funk Shun,
Spoonie Gee,
Jandek,
New Age Steppers,
ABBA,
Nas,
Quadrant,
MC5,
Circle Jerks,
The Flesh Eaters,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Liliput,
Los Fastidios,
Patti Smith,
Surgeon,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Cluster,
Angry Samoans,
Carl Craig,
Joe Finger,
The Grass Roots,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Moss Icon,
Kevin Saunderson,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Talk Talk,
Camberwell Now,
F. McDonald,
The Shadows of Knight,
Susan Cadogan,
DNA,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Ultra Naté,
The Mummies,
The Gap Band,
Sister Nancy,
Absolute Body Control, Absolute Body Control, Absolute Body Control, Absolute Body Control.
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.