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 Kiribati and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1971 at the first Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Barrington Levy to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 The Remains. All the underground hits.
All The Detroit Cobras tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marcia Griffiths 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rhythim Is Rhythim record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
F. McDonald,
The Beau Brummels,
The United States of America,
Au Pairs,
Thompson Twins,
Wally Richardson,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Desert Stars,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Wire,
The American Breed,
John Holt,
Davy DMX,
The Real Kids,
Kenny Larkin,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Slits,
The Black Dice,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Tremeloes,
The Mummies,
Bobby Womack,
Nirvana,
ABBA,
Henry Cow,
Erykah Badu,
Gong,
the Human League,
Technova,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Buckinghams,
The Pop Group,
Amazonics,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Residents,
Sarah Menescal,
New York Dolls,
Pylon,
Guru Guru,
H. Thieme,
Curtis Mayfield,
Funkadelic,
Alphaville,
Peter and Kerry,
Jandek,
Mark Hollis,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
Junior Murvin,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Minor Threat,
Moebius,
Kerri Chandler,
Brick,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Gang Gang Dance,
Wasted Youth,
Bootsy Collins,
The Index, The Index, The Index, The Index.
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.