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 Luxembourg and from Sao Paulo.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Mr. Review to the jazz 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 Khruangbin. All the underground hits.
All Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Curtis Mayfield record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 a theremin and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deakin,
F. McDonald,
Kerrie Biddell,
Malaria!,
Danielle Patucci,
Arcadia,
Rufus Thomas,
Ken Boothe,
The Human League,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
T. Rex,
Fugazi,
Piero Umiliani,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Curtis Mayfield,
the Slits,
Metal Thangz,
Dual Sessions,
X-Ray Spex,
Barbara Tucker,
Boredoms,
Lee Hazlewood,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Joyce Sims,
The Zeros,
Talk Talk,
Intrusion,
Patti Smith,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Subhumans,
Stereo Dub,
Little Man,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Hashim,
The Remains,
Country Teasers,
Robert Hood,
Skarface,
Desert Stars,
The Fire Engines,
Albert Ayler,
The Move,
Dawn Penn,
Ludus,
Nirvana,
The Evens,
The Mummies,
The Real Kids,
Don Cherry,
Kas Product,
MC5,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Outsiders,
the Swans,
Audionom,
The Invisible,
Davy DMX,
Kerri Chandler,
Pagans,
Bronski Beat,
John Foxx,
the Bar-Kays,
Marmalade, Marmalade, Marmalade, Marmalade.
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.