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 Taiwan and from Delhi.
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 1965 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Houston.
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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the güiro 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 The Star Department to the funk 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 West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. All the underground hits.
All Max Romeo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every John Holt 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a sitar 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 chamberlin and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angry Samoans,
Pussy Galore,
John Lydon,
Dave Gahan,
U.S. Maple,
Royal Trux,
Derrick May,
Theoretical Girls,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
The Martian,
Infiniti,
Sugar Minott,
Bang On A Can,
Alice Coltrane,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Stooges,
The Remains,
Scientists,
Terrestrial Tones,
FM Einheit,
Underground Resistance,
Lalann,
The Slits,
Vainqueur,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Electric Prunes,
Sonny Sharrock,
Tropical Tobacco,
Peter & Gordon,
Howard Jones,
Deakin,
Bauhaus,
The Beau Brummels,
Fat Boys,
Joey Negro,
Kool Moe Dee,
Niagra,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Cowsills,
Buzzcocks,
Don Cherry,
David Bowie,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
This Heat,
Roy Ayers,
The Gun Club,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Ralphi Rosario,
Freddie Wadling,
The Neon Judgement,
Bill Near,
Los Fastidios,
New York Dolls,
Al Stewart,
Black Sheep,
Wings,
Goldenarms,
Soft Machine,
Kerrie Biddell,
Das Ding, Das Ding, Das Ding, Das Ding.
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.