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 Brunei and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1963 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Hong Kong.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Todd Terry to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Television. All the underground hits.
All Pussy Galore tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Glambeats Corp. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 a guitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Knickerbockers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rod Modell,
The Monks,
Duran Duran,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
the Slits,
Bobby Sherman,
Neil Young,
Tim Buckley,
The Zeros,
Sparks,
The Trojans,
T. Rex,
Barrington Levy,
The Black Dice,
Yaz,
T.S.O.L.,
Suburban Knight,
Ohio Players,
The Doobie Brothers,
Andrew Hill,
Toni Rubio,
Terry Callier,
Maurizio,
Todd Terry,
Aloha Tigers,
Au Pairs,
The Cure,
Rosa Yemen,
Pole,
Faust,
Joe Smooth,
Heaven 17,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Mo-Dettes,
Unwound,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Index,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Gang Gang Dance,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Amon Düül,
Dennis Brown,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Absolute Body Control,
Dead Boys,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Pere Ubu,
Rotary Connection,
The Techniques,
L. Decosne,
Eurythmics,
Yazoo,
Throbbing Gristle,
Faraquet,
Quando Quango,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Bob Dylan,
Desert Stars,
The Divine Comedy,
The Walker Brothers,
Whodini,
The Misunderstood,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt.
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.