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 Portugal and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Scientists to the techno 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy. All the underground hits.
All Chris Corsano tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Joyce Sims 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Wake record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
F. McDonald,
Suburban Knight,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Stetsasonic,
JFA,
Liliput,
the Soft Cell,
Mad Mike,
a-ha,
Moby Grape,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Magma,
The Dirtbombs,
Gang Green,
Donald Byrd,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Minny Pops,
Brothers Johnson,
The Toasters,
Sarah Menescal,
Yellowson,
Joe Finger,
Boogie Down Productions,
Sam Rivers,
The Associates,
Vainqueur,
Althea and Donna,
June of 44,
Agent Orange,
Angry Samoans,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Skriet,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Morten Harket,
Iggy Pop,
La Düsseldorf,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Franke,
Lalann,
The Moody Blues,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Motorama,
Todd Rundgren,
Cymande,
The Cramps,
Bobby Sherman,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Marc Almond,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Stereo Dub,
Robert Hood,
Kurtis Blow,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Jacques Brel,
Gichy Dan,
Spoonie Gee,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Jeff Lynne,
Mr. Review, Mr. Review, Mr. Review, Mr. Review.
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.