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 Czech Republic and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 John Coltrane to the techno 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 London Community Gospel Choir. All the underground hits.
All Lee Hazlewood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 marimba and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wire record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Circle Jerks,
The Wake,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Fire Engines,
Blancmange,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Letta Mbulu,
The Mojo Men,
The Gories,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Eric B and Rakim,
Section 25,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Gun Club,
Delon & Dalcan,
Reuben Wilson,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Derrick Morgan,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Yellowson,
Chris Corsano,
the Human League,
Cheater Slicks,
Tom Boy,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Electric Prunes,
Newcleus,
Brothers Johnson,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Mo-Dettes,
The Cowsills,
Icehouse,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
T.S.O.L.,
Harry Pussy,
Kool Moe Dee,
Graham Central Station,
Flash Fearless,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Donald Byrd,
Kevin Saunderson,
Soft Machine,
The Slackers,
X-Ray Spex,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Dirtbombs,
Arthur Verocai,
Wire,
Big Daddy Kane,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Angels of Light,
The Invisible,
Aswad,
Jeff Lynne,
Visage,
Altered Images,
Clear Light,
James White and The Blacks,
Vladislav Delay,
Marine Girls,
Faraquet,
The Dave Clark Five, The Dave Clark Five, The Dave Clark Five, The Dave Clark Five.
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.