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 Singapore and from Edmonton.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
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 Brothers Johnson to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Dorothy Ashby. All the underground hits.
All The Misunderstood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mission of Burma record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cramps record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Mummies,
Soft Cell,
Y Pants,
Graham Central Station,
Animal Collective,
Eddi Front,
Bobby Sherman,
Byron Stingily,
Minnie Riperton,
Rites of Spring,
Arthur Verocai,
Funkadelic,
Laurel Aitken,
Electric Prunes,
L. Decosne,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Barbara Tucker,
Mary Jane Girls,
John Holt,
Bad Manners,
Ice-T,
Connie Case,
Harry Pussy,
Ludus,
Pulsallama,
Japan,
Loose Ends,
Goldenarms,
Sexual Harrassment,
Scan 7,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Remains,
Ponytail,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Lucky Dragons,
The Zeros,
H. Thieme,
Black Pus,
Black Sheep,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Wally Richardson,
Lungfish,
Pylon,
Angry Samoans,
Lightning Bolt,
OOIOO,
Kayak,
The Smoke,
Jesper Dahlback,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Fire Engines,
Fear,
Crime,
Scott Walker,
James White and The Blacks,
Masters at Work,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Desert Stars,
Pantytec,
The Red Krayola,
the Swans,
Supertramp,
Little Man, Little Man, Little Man, Little Man.
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.