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 Taiwan and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the snare 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 Neil Young & Crazy Horse to the crunk 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 Public Image Ltd.. All the underground hits.
All Stockholm Monsters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Flipper record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Can record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fuzztones,
New York Dolls,
Black Flag,
Tubeway Army,
The Modern Lovers,
Black Bananas,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Fela Kuti,
Judy Mowatt,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Jacob Miller,
Scratch Acid,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Cameo,
Camberwell Now,
Eurythmics,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Henry Cow,
Ponytail,
The Offenders,
Excepter,
In Retrospect,
Flash Fearless,
Donald Byrd,
Matthew Bourne,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Suicide,
Reuben Wilson,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Harmonia,
Cymande,
Banda Bassotti,
Delon & Dalcan,
Cheater Slicks,
Royal Trux,
The American Breed,
Drive Like Jehu,
Magma,
Fugazi,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sandy B,
Robert Hood,
Matthew Halsall,
Charles Mingus,
Lower 48,
Funkadelic,
The Star Department,
The Slackers,
Agent Orange,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Tremeloes,
Roy Ayers,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Rites of Spring,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Procol Harum,
The Walker Brothers,
Stockholm Monsters,
John Cale,
Graham Central Station,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Spoonie Gee, Spoonie Gee, Spoonie Gee, Spoonie Gee.
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.