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 Guinea and from New York.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Index to the dance kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo. All the underground hits.
All The Black Dice tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every David McCallum record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Electric Prunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pantytec,
T.S.O.L.,
Barbara Tucker,
The American Breed,
Lungfish,
Piero Umiliani,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
H. Thieme,
Suicide,
Con Funk Shun,
Ohio Players,
Qualms,
Section 25,
The Sonics,
the Slits,
AZ,
Fear,
These Immortal Souls,
Rhythm & Sound,
Pole,
The Victims,
Zapp,
Radiohead,
The Count Five,
Masters at Work,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Buckinghams,
Echospace,
Freddie Wadling,
Man Parrish,
Johnny Clarke,
Colin Newman,
Tom Boy,
Al Stewart,
Subhumans,
Camouflage,
Spoonie Gee,
The Selecter,
Mantronix,
Tropical Tobacco,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Offenders,
Half Japanese,
Panda Bear,
The Blackbyrds,
Minnie Riperton,
The Golliwogs,
Amon Düül,
Lakeside,
The Residents,
Mary Jane Girls,
Index,
The Gun Club,
Marine Girls,
Eden Ahbez,
Circle Jerks,
Bizarre Inc.,
Sandy B,
Junior Murvin,
John Holt, John Holt, John Holt, John Holt.
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.