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 Turkmenistan and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 mellotron 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 Move to the punk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 John Coltrane. All the underground hits.
All Hoover tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jacques Brel record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 808 and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wasted Youth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Hardrive,
Letta Mbulu,
the Soft Cell,
Amon Düül,
Althea and Donna,
Flamin' Groovies,
Swell Maps,
Model 500,
Ronan,
E-Dancer,
The Toasters,
X-Ray Spex,
Pussy Galore,
Mr. Review,
Newcleus,
Nils Olav,
Idris Muhammad,
Oblivians,
The Smoke,
AZ,
The Doobie Brothers,
Jeff Lynne,
The Standells,
Alison Limerick,
Sugar Minott,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Mars,
Black Flag,
Cymande,
U.S. Maple,
Animal Collective,
FM Einheit,
Scientists,
Sex Pistols,
Eddi Front,
Barbara Tucker,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
ABC,
David McCallum,
Maurizio,
Donald Byrd,
Depeche Mode,
Tres Demented,
Sister Nancy,
Tubeway Army,
Don Cherry,
The Residents,
The Selecter,
Roxette,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Steve Hackett,
Max Romeo,
a-ha,
DJ Sneak,
Marc Almond,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Iggy Pop,
Scott Walker,
David Axelrod,
John Foxx,
Robert Wyatt, Robert Wyatt, Robert Wyatt, Robert Wyatt.
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.