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 Morocco and from Seoul.
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 1960 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 Neu! practice in a loft in Düsseldorf.
I was working on the organ 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 grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme. All the underground hits.
All The Blues Magoos tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bob Dylan 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Sherman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Mummies,
The Grass Roots,
Neu!,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Byron Stingily,
Max Romeo,
The Wake,
Nas,
The Dead C,
Black Flag,
Black Sheep,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Camouflage,
Youth Brigade,
Unrelated Segments,
Bobby Byrd,
Danielle Patucci,
Nils Olav,
Kas Product,
Rotary Connection,
Ken Boothe,
Pulsallama,
Underground Resistance,
Lungfish,
The Walker Brothers,
Trumans Water,
Crime,
Dennis Brown,
Pylon,
June Days,
The Moleskins,
The Mojo Men,
Boogie Down Productions,
Brothers Johnson,
Ronan,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
the Normal,
Jerry's Kids,
Pet Shop Boys,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Angry Samoans,
8 Eyed Spy,
Wasted Youth,
Traffic Nightmare,
the Association,
Hasil Adkins,
Kenny Larkin,
Vladislav Delay,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Ituana,
Sandy B,
Theoretical Girls,
Soul II Soul,
Young Marble Giants,
Jesper Dahlback,
Darondo,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Warsaw,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Music Machine,
E-Dancer,
Iggy Pop,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, Thinking Fellers Union Local 282, Thinking Fellers Union Local 282.
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.