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 the UAE and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 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 Lightning Bolt to the crunk 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 John Lydon. All the underground hits.
All Essential Logic tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lakeside 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 8 Eyed Spy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Agent Orange,
Sun City Girls,
Blancmange,
The Dirtbombs,
The Martian,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Desert Stars,
The Gories,
Popol Vuh,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Goldenarms,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Alarm Clocks,
Babytalk,
Parry Music,
Trumans Water,
The Happenings,
Grauzone,
Siglo XX,
The Detroit Cobras,
Deepchord,
Dave Gahan,
Adolescents,
Spandau Ballet,
Byron Stingily,
Pagans,
Sex Pistols,
The Raincoats,
Porter Ricks,
10cc,
Barrington Levy,
Andrew Hill,
Blake Baxter,
Arcadia,
The Kinks,
L. Decosne,
The Modern Lovers,
E-Dancer,
Bluetip,
Bad Manners,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
David McCallum,
Boogie Down Productions,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Pere Ubu,
Reagan Youth,
Anthony Braxton,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Fela Kuti,
Josef K,
Gabor Szabo,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Lou Christie,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Cheater Slicks,
Qualms,
Yellowson,
Susan Cadogan,
Maurizio,
John Foxx,
DNA,
Black Pus,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
This Heat, This Heat, This Heat, This Heat.
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.