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 New Zealand and from Copenhagen.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 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 Index 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 Lou Christie. All the underground hits.
All Howard Jones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crash Course in Science record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb 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 Star Department,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Ludus,
Glenn Branca,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
One Last Wish,
Kurtis Blow,
Kas Product,
New York Dolls,
Gang Starr,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Skarface,
Connie Case,
Intrusion,
Pet Shop Boys,
Unwound,
The Golliwogs,
Fela Kuti,
The Knickerbockers,
Qualms,
Wasted Youth,
Sparks,
Pylon,
Schoolly D,
The Moody Blues,
Y Pants,
Depeche Mode,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Seeds,
Robert Hood,
Eden Ahbez,
The Evens,
The Leaves,
Minor Threat,
Darondo,
Mandrill,
Fluxion,
Sixth Finger,
L. Decosne,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Accadde A,
ABC,
The Five Americans,
Visage,
Essential Logic,
Warren Ellis,
Sugar Minott,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Index,
Sun Ra,
The Fall,
Babytalk,
Parry Music,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
The Misunderstood,
The Tremeloes,
Lucky Dragons,
The Slits,
Barry Ungar,
Peter & Gordon,
Angry Samoans,
UT,
David Bowie, David Bowie, David Bowie, David Bowie.
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.