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 Ecuador and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Crispy Ambulance to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Camouflage. All the underground hits.
All Terrestrial Tones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The United States of America record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Flamin' Groovies record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Popol Vuh,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Robert Hood,
Surgeon,
Tom Boy,
Mad Mike,
Thompson Twins,
Sun City Girls,
Steve Hackett,
Camouflage,
Chris & Cosey,
The Standells,
The Human League,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
48th St. Collective,
The Remains,
The Gladiators,
Minny Pops,
Mantronix,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Smoke,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Litter,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Invisible,
The American Breed,
Prince Buster,
The Toasters,
Amon Düül II,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Ludus,
Rapeman,
Funkadelic,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Donald Byrd,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Unrelated Segments,
the Swans,
The Walker Brothers,
Theoretical Girls,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Zapp,
Swans,
Talk Talk,
The Happenings,
U.S. Maple,
Lalo Schifrin,
Motorama,
Byron Stingily,
CMW,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Oneida,
The Star Department,
The Wake,
Wire,
The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light.
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.