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 Kyrgyzstan and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Barry Ungar to the grunge 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 Kings Of Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Connie Case record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a David Axelrod record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Throbbing Gristle,
Minor Threat,
Index,
The Associates,
The Monks,
the Association,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Lee Hazlewood,
Michelle Simonal,
The Techniques,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Ituana,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Roxette,
Model 500,
Dave Gahan,
Marshall Jefferson,
Panda Bear,
Fela Kuti,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Nils Olav,
Crispy Ambulance,
Ten City,
Sun Ra,
Sound Behaviour,
X-Ray Spex,
Sonic Youth,
Cheater Slicks,
Delon & Dalcan,
Monks,
Albert Ayler,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Lou Reed,
Danielle Patucci,
K-Klass,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
T. Rex,
Joey Negro,
Lou Christie,
Slick Rick,
Eric Dolphy,
The Fall,
Terrestrial Tones,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Unrelated Segments,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Golliwogs,
John Cale,
Ultravox,
Eric B and Rakim,
Brass Construction,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Angry Samoans,
Eve St. Jones,
The Remains,
Gang Gang Dance,
Public Image Ltd.,
Idris Muhammad,
Marine Girls,
Au Pairs,
The Selecter,
The Music Machine,
Scott Walker, Scott Walker, Scott Walker, Scott Walker.
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.