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 Gambia and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Johannesburg.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Throbbing Gristle to the electroclash 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 the Sonics. All the underground hits.
All Henry Cow tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 guitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Pretty Things,
Rhythm & Sound,
Soft Cell,
Pussy Galore,
Neu!,
Be Bop Deluxe,
U.S. Maple,
Fela Kuti,
Girls At Our Best!,
Adolescents,
Lungfish,
Wire,
Niagra,
Peter & Gordon,
Sparks,
Banda Bassotti,
The Velvet Underground,
The Vogues,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Funkadelic,
The United States of America,
Tears for Fears,
Cybotron,
the Human League,
Quantec,
The Residents,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Procol Harum,
Eurythmics,
Depeche Mode,
Crime,
10cc,
The Dead C,
Bob Dylan,
Harry Pussy,
The Beau Brummels,
Marmalade,
Make Up,
the Slits,
Wasted Youth,
The Blues Magoos,
Deakin,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Inner City,
Robert Görl,
MC5,
Talk Talk,
the Swans,
Bush Tetras,
Deadbeat,
Agitation Free,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Nico,
Marc Almond,
Vladislav Delay,
Camouflage,
Schoolly D,
Malaria!,
Gang Starr,
Index,
The Raincoats, The Raincoats, The Raincoats, The Raincoats.
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.