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 Cyprus and from Lyon.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 oboe 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 H. Thieme to the funk 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 The Gladiators. All the underground hits.
All Desert Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Skriet record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Soft Cell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harry Pussy,
Ten City,
Faraquet,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Barbara Tucker,
Sexual Harrassment,
Grauzone,
Alison Limerick,
Tommy Roe,
Sex Pistols,
Average White Band,
Pylon,
Nik Kershaw,
Duran Duran,
The Blackbyrds,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Soulsonic Force,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Real Kids,
Hardrive,
Wire,
Crime,
The Happenings,
David Axelrod,
Saccharine Trust,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Electric Prunes,
The Five Americans,
Section 25,
The Music Machine,
The Doobie Brothers,
Leonard Cohen,
Bush Tetras,
Bill Near,
Parry Music,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Red Krayola,
The Vogues,
Ossler,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Joyce Sims,
Smog,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
Thee Headcoats,
Barry Ungar,
Albert Ayler,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
John Holt,
The Misunderstood,
The Zeros,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Dual Sessions,
Deepchord,
Amazonics,
Brick,
Boz Scaggs,
A Certain Ratio,
Excepter,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column.
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.