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 Bolivia and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the guitar 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 The Angels of Light to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Shadows of Knight. All the underground hits.
All Robert Görl tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every These Immortal Souls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wally Richardson,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Todd Terry,
Pierre Henry,
Darondo,
Loose Ends,
Ken Boothe,
The Searchers,
Icehouse,
The American Breed,
Cecil Taylor,
Ornette Coleman,
Average White Band,
Traffic Nightmare,
Mr. Review,
The Trojans,
Terrestrial Tones,
Todd Rundgren,
Barbara Tucker,
The Cowsills,
Boz Scaggs,
Blossom Toes,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Dead C,
Oblivians,
The Music Machine,
Talk Talk,
Amon Düül,
Cybotron,
Bronski Beat,
Aswad,
Radiohead,
The Techniques,
Scientists,
Jacques Brel,
Marmalade,
Letta Mbulu,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
KRS-One,
Cal Tjader,
the Human League,
Hardrive,
Franke,
Country Teasers,
The Cramps,
The New Christs,
DNA,
Pylon,
JFA,
Duran Duran,
Ludus,
Amazonics,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Fuzztones,
Bang On A Can,
L. Decosne,
The Red Krayola,
Interpol,
Zero Boys,
T. Rex,
Eric B and Rakim,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Audionom,
Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins.
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.