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 Korea North and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 New Christs to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Duran Duran. All the underground hits.
All Reuben Wilson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pussy Galore 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scott Walker record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
H. Thieme,
Lungfish,
Flamin' Groovies,
Make Up,
One Last Wish,
Andrew Hill,
Maurizio,
Porter Ricks,
Bobby Womack,
Faraquet,
Traffic Nightmare,
Dead Boys,
The Neon Judgement,
Smog,
Stetsasonic,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Last Poets,
Chris Corsano,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Gories,
Bad Manners,
Funkadelic,
Roxy Music,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Stockholm Monsters,
Scion,
a-ha,
Bill Wells,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Quantec,
Ohio Players,
Morten Harket,
Gang Green,
Flipper,
Nick Fraelich,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
kango's stein massive,
EPMD,
U.S. Maple,
Yazoo,
Harmonia,
The Searchers,
Minny Pops,
Banda Bassotti,
Arab on Radar,
Heaven 17,
The Remains,
Goldenarms,
Michelle Simonal,
DJ Sneak,
Rhythm & Sound,
Delon & Dalcan,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Lebanon Hanover,
Groovy Waters,
Kas Product,
Girls At Our Best!,
Eric Copeland,
Motorama,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Drive Like Jehu,
Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox.
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.