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 Uganda and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 The Sisters of Mercy to the techno kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All The Invisible tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Letta Mbulu record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The J.B.'s record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Little Man,
John Holt,
Scion,
Carl Craig,
Cybotron,
These Immortal Souls,
The Move,
The Buckinghams,
Oneida,
In Retrospect,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Invisible,
Brass Construction,
The Names,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
John Coltrane,
Prince Buster,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Rotary Connection,
Y Pants,
Junior Murvin,
The Gories,
Ornette Coleman,
Sixth Finger,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Kenny Larkin,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Henry Cow,
Bill Near,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Main Source,
Zapp,
Radiopuhelimet,
Bootsy Collins,
Kool Moe Dee,
Lalo Schifrin,
Jeff Lynne,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Alison Limerick,
The Litter,
Cecil Taylor,
Rhythm & Sound,
Monolake,
Funky Four + One,
Metal Thangz,
Juan Atkins,
Throbbing Gristle,
Hashim,
Marmalade,
Lakeside,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Audionom,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Index,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Gastr Del Sol,
Sandy B,
Mark Hollis,
Suburban Knight,
The Golliwogs,
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.
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.