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 Laos and from Johannesburg.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the theremin 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 Jerry Gold Smith to the grunge 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 Black Pus. All the underground hits.
All Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Harry Pussy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 marimba and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pylon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fire Engines,
X-Ray Spex,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bill Wells,
The Selecter,
Joe Finger,
Janne Schatter,
Lucky Dragons,
Delta 5,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Whodini,
Judy Mowatt,
Kool Moe Dee,
Throbbing Gristle,
Masters at Work,
June Days,
Davy DMX,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Happenings,
Derrick Morgan,
The Sound,
Cheater Slicks,
Tropical Tobacco,
Y Pants,
The Leaves,
Bronski Beat,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Pylon,
Audionom,
Crooked Eye,
Freddie Wadling,
Scientists,
Cameo,
Byron Stingily,
Youth Brigade,
The Gun Club,
The Divine Comedy,
Terrestrial Tones,
Frankie Knuckles,
Mr. Review,
Roxette,
Rapeman,
Agent Orange,
Joyce Sims,
Fad Gadget,
The Birthday Party,
The Cowsills,
Lungfish,
The Dirtbombs,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Minnie Riperton,
Brand Nubian,
Ultimate Spinach,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Suburban Knight,
Colin Newman,
The Mummies,
Kevin Saunderson,
Kerri Chandler,
Black Sheep,
Eyeless In Gaza, Eyeless In Gaza, Eyeless In Gaza, Eyeless In Gaza.
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.