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 Kiribati and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Wolf Eyes to the grunge 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 PIL. All the underground hits.
All Bluetip tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Peanut Butter Conspiracy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 güiro and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scientists record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Faust,
Little Man,
Rapeman,
Popol Vuh,
Skaos,
Monks,
The Selecter,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Blues Magoos,
The Electric Prunes,
Kas Product,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Pole,
Scion,
Swell Maps,
Laurel Aitken,
The Fugs,
John Foxx,
James White and The Blacks,
Boredoms,
Chris & Cosey,
The Fire Engines,
Buzzcocks,
Scientists,
Robert Hood,
Moebius,
Jerry's Kids,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Stockholm Monsters,
Nick Fraelich,
Mark Hollis,
Gang Starr,
June of 44,
Scrapy,
Max Romeo,
Agent Orange,
China Crisis,
Stiv Bators,
Juan Atkins,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Jacob Miller,
Tres Demented,
Wire,
The Durutti Column,
Radio Birdman,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Detroit Cobras,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Black Dice,
Unwound,
Swans,
Glenn Branca,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Theoretical Girls,
Johnny Osbourne,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Prince Buster,
Pulsallama,
Public Enemy,
The Wake,
Tropical Tobacco,
Byron Stingily,
Black Moon, Black Moon, Black Moon, Black Moon.
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.