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 Kuwait and from Johannesburg.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the 808 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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Circle Jerks. All the underground hits.
All cv313 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Hutcherson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Davy DMX record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Rekid,
Jawbox,
Hot Snakes,
The Mojo Men,
Urselle,
Mr. Review,
Lungfish,
Make Up,
Deakin,
Basic Channel,
Lalann,
Mandrill,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Matthew Halsall,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Pretty Things,
Young Marble Giants,
The Stooges,
John Cale,
Au Pairs,
Accadde A,
Livin' Joy,
Dead Boys,
Kayak,
Faust,
Arab on Radar,
Yazoo,
Joey Negro,
Traffic Nightmare,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Dave Clark Five,
Pussy Galore,
The Dead C,
Can,
the Germs,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Shadows of Knight,
Organ,
The Modern Lovers,
Neil Young,
The Selecter,
a-ha,
Brass Construction,
Duran Duran,
Royal Trux,
Stockholm Monsters,
Ken Boothe,
Pagans,
Bobby Womack,
Yellowson,
Soft Cell,
Kurtis Blow,
John Coltrane,
Sun City Girls,
Byron Stingily,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Wolf Eyes,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Sisters of Mercy,
the Association,
Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy.
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.