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 South Africa and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Houston.
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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Smoke to the grunge kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Grey Daturas. All the underground hits.
All Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Shadows of Knight record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Larry & the Blue Notes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Selecter,
Scrapy,
John Cale,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Public Enemy,
Gabor Szabo,
David McCallum,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Shoche,
Smog,
Roy Ayers,
Cluster,
Blossom Toes,
Todd Rundgren,
The Beau Brummels,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Faraquet,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
the Normal,
Nirvana,
The Mojo Men,
Oblivians,
Judy Mowatt,
Reuben Wilson,
Hoover,
Kas Product,
Man Eating Sloth,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
H. Thieme,
Interpol,
Eric B and Rakim,
Arcadia,
Girls At Our Best!,
Ronnie Foster,
Au Pairs,
The Moody Blues,
Kool Moe Dee,
E-Dancer,
Terrestrial Tones,
Tim Buckley,
Moebius,
The Shadows of Knight,
Eyeless In Gaza,
OOIOO,
Jerry's Kids,
Robert Wyatt,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Cameo,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Severed Heads,
Royal Trux,
Clear Light,
Pierre Henry,
Mantronix,
The Vogues,
Rosa Yemen, Rosa Yemen, Rosa Yemen, Rosa Yemen.
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.