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 Korea North and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the rhodes 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 The Fuzztones to the disco kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Gang Starr. All the underground hits.
All Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Move 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Alarm Clocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Young Rascals,
Mars,
Pierre Henry,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Alarm Clocks,
Section 25,
the Soft Cell,
The Dave Clark Five,
10cc,
Throbbing Gristle,
Monks,
Gang Starr,
Neil Young,
Piero Umiliani,
The Dead C,
Sandy B,
Archie Shepp,
Desert Stars,
The Birthday Party,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Surgeon,
Jawbox,
Jerry's Kids,
Model 500,
Talk Talk,
Dawn Penn,
The Mummies,
JFA,
Henry Cow,
Andrew Hill,
FM Einheit,
Franke,
X-Ray Spex,
The Gun Club,
Johnny Clarke,
H. Thieme,
Rufus Thomas,
Maleditus Sound,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Yusef Lateef,
Heaven 17,
Sex Pistols,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Index,
Inner City,
Kool Moe Dee,
Ludus,
Icehouse,
Jeru the Damaja,
T. Rex,
Depeche Mode,
Camberwell Now,
Max Romeo,
Schoolly D,
Bizarre Inc.,
Parry Music,
K-Klass,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Can,
Technova,
the Slits,
The Trojans, The Trojans, The Trojans, The Trojans.
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.