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 Montenegro and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Manila.
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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Fugazi 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 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. All the underground hits.
All Robert Hood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pet Shop Boys record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 808 and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mandrill record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rekid,
The Dave Clark Five,
Man Parrish,
The Detroit Cobras,
Pussy Galore,
June Days,
X-102,
Suicide,
Warsaw,
Buzzcocks,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Wolf Eyes,
This Heat,
Rapeman,
Joyce Sims,
Bill Wells,
The Selecter,
Suburban Knight,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Kinks,
Camouflage,
R.M.O.,
Skarface,
David McCallum,
Metal Thangz,
The Star Department,
The Skatalites,
Derrick May,
Sex Pistols,
Tim Buckley,
Banda Bassotti,
Cymande,
Monks,
Curtis Mayfield,
Franke,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Birthday Party,
Lebanon Hanover,
Man Eating Sloth,
Bobby Byrd,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
the Slits,
The United States of America,
Junior Murvin,
a-ha,
U.S. Maple,
New Age Steppers,
Ice-T,
Los Fastidios,
Kerrie Biddell,
Andrew Hill,
Oneida,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Delon & Dalcan,
Terry Callier,
The Pretty Things,
Excepter,
Todd Rundgren,
Average White Band,
Cecil Taylor,
Whodini, Whodini, Whodini, Whodini.
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.