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 Kuwait and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Robert Wyatt to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. All the underground hits.
All Man Eating Sloth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Clear Light 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Johnny Clarke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Tremeloes,
Sight & Sound,
Ronan,
Scrapy,
The Remains,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Anakelly,
Reuben Wilson,
The Real Kids,
Pole,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Misunderstood,
Youth Brigade,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
H. Thieme,
Colin Newman,
Nation of Ulysses,
The J.B.'s,
Desert Stars,
ABC,
The Gun Club,
David Axelrod,
Agent Orange,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Section 25,
DNA,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Techniques,
Prince Buster,
The Neon Judgement,
The Cramps,
X-Ray Spex,
Wally Richardson,
Don Cherry,
Heaven 17,
The Alarm Clocks,
Stetsasonic,
Piero Umiliani,
John Coltrane,
Sparks,
Robert Görl,
Danielle Patucci,
Rod Modell,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Roxette,
E-Dancer,
Circle Jerks,
Scan 7,
Delon & Dalcan,
Scientists,
Frankie Knuckles,
Todd Terry,
Grauzone,
The Human League,
The Moleskins,
Tomorrow,
Sonny Sharrock,
Negative Approach,
Siouxsie and the Banshees, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Siouxsie and the Banshees.
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.