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 South and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the clarinet 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 James White and The Blacks to the funk 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 The Barracudas. All the underground hits.
All Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Andrew Hill record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nation of Ulysses record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
DJ Style,
The Knickerbockers,
X-Ray Spex,
Gang Gang Dance,
Clear Light,
Eurythmics,
The Dave Clark Five,
Stereo Dub,
The Toasters,
Television,
David Axelrod,
The Fortunes,
The Vogues,
The Victims,
Tom Boy,
Cheater Slicks,
The Stooges,
Ultravox,
Kenny Larkin,
U.S. Maple,
The Human League,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Wally Richardson,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Kurtis Blow,
Pylon,
PIL,
Graham Central Station,
Reuben Wilson,
Newcleus,
Nas,
Gang of Four,
Rites of Spring,
The Doobie Brothers,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Count Five,
Terry Callier,
Rufus Thomas,
New Order,
Visage,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Kevin Saunderson,
Saccharine Trust,
The Martian,
Crime,
Brand Nubian,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Red Krayola,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Sound Behaviour,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
8 Eyed Spy,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Sight & Sound,
Suicide,
Soulsonic Force,
Robert Görl,
Bluetip,
Neu!,
Vainqueur,
Gabor Szabo,
Gang Starr,
Pole, Pole, Pole, Pole.
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.