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 Kyrgyzstan and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 clarinet 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 Marmalade to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Tropical Tobacco. All the underground hits.
All Dorothy Ashby tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every H. Thieme record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 a clarinet and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gregory Isaacs,
The Modern Lovers,
Johnny Osbourne,
Camouflage,
Al Stewart,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Barry Ungar,
Negative Approach,
Girls At Our Best!,
Supertramp,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Red Krayola,
Matthew Bourne,
Rosa Yemen,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Liliput,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Sugar Minott,
The Alarm Clocks,
Public Image Ltd.,
Eden Ahbez,
Davy DMX,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Little Man,
The Pretty Things,
Young Marble Giants,
the Soft Cell,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
ABBA,
Adolescents,
Animal Collective,
The Trojans,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
AZ,
Jawbox,
Ultimate Spinach,
Lou Reed,
The Tremeloes,
Interpol,
Todd Rundgren,
Roger Hodgson,
Chris Corsano,
Slave,
Babytalk,
Infiniti,
Wally Richardson,
Tommy Roe,
Gil Scott Heron,
June of 44,
Malaria!,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Man Parrish,
The Blues Magoos,
Magazine,
The Blackbyrds,
K-Klass,
Deakin, Deakin, Deakin, Deakin.
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.