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 Brazil and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Cybotron to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All The American Breed tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lebanon Hanover 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Residents record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Al Stewart,
Amazonics,
Heaven 17,
The Sonics,
Pere Ubu,
Thee Headcoats,
Derrick May,
Audionom,
Barrington Levy,
The Searchers,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Country Teasers,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Lungfish,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
T.S.O.L.,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Young Marble Giants,
The Doors,
Terrestrial Tones,
Fugazi,
Cymande,
Swell Maps,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Faust,
Eurythmics,
The Walker Brothers,
Yazoo,
Icehouse,
The Golliwogs,
Tomorrow,
Franke,
Pagans,
Dark Day,
Nick Fraelich,
Tears for Fears,
The Beau Brummels,
Freddie Wadling,
Malaria!,
Wasted Youth,
David McCallum,
Jandek,
Theoretical Girls,
Underground Resistance,
the Swans,
The Fugs,
Kayak,
Marcia Griffiths,
Parry Music,
Matthew Bourne,
Lee Hazlewood,
Eric Dolphy,
Janne Schatter,
FM Einheit,
The Cure,
Hardrive,
Scientists,
UT,
Ultravox,
Pulsallama,
The Birthday Party,
Bluetip,
Michelle Simonal,
Piero Umiliani, Piero Umiliani, Piero Umiliani, Piero Umiliani.
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.