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 Denmark and from Hong Kong.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Reagan Youth to the electroclash 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 Soft Cell. All the underground hits.
All Circle Jerks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dual Sessions record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a DJ Sneak record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Kerri Chandler,
The Seeds,
Lungfish,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
DJ Sneak,
Marcia Griffiths,
Maurizio,
Main Source,
Technova,
Ice-T,
These Immortal Souls,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Iggy Pop,
Barry Ungar,
Gang Starr,
the Bar-Kays,
Jesper Dahlback,
Urselle,
Magma,
The Searchers,
Kevin Saunderson,
Albert Ayler,
Robert Hood,
Scratch Acid,
Brass Construction,
Sun City Girls,
David Axelrod,
Silicon Teens,
The Knickerbockers,
Aswad,
Gang Gang Dance,
Mr. Review,
Blake Baxter,
Mad Mike,
The Dirtbombs,
Visage,
Surgeon,
Minutemen,
Roxy Music,
The Offenders,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Lindisfarne,
The Evens,
The Alarm Clocks,
Erasure,
Sarah Menescal,
Cal Tjader,
Y Pants,
Audionom,
Leonard Cohen,
Kas Product,
Amazonics,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Deepchord,
Moebius,
Zero Boys,
X-102,
Janne Schatter,
Au Pairs,
Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore.
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.