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 Winnipeg.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Jandek to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Almond. All the underground hits.
All LL Cool J tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Peter & Gordon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Victims,
Joey Negro,
Unrelated Segments,
A Flock of Seagulls,
R.M.O.,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Index,
The Beau Brummels,
Supertramp,
Barry Ungar,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Q65,
Idris Muhammad,
The Velvet Underground,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Star Department,
Man Parrish,
Index,
Gabor Szabo,
John Cale,
World's Most,
The Mummies,
The Sound,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Scrapy,
Quadrant,
Donny Hathaway,
LL Cool J,
the Human League,
Mark Hollis,
Agent Orange,
Pharoah Sanders,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Doobie Brothers,
Gang Gang Dance,
Dark Day,
Gregory Isaacs,
Rapeman,
Jesper Dahlback,
In Retrospect,
Loose Ends,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Tom Boy,
Letta Mbulu,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Godley & Creme,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Robert Hood,
Flash Fearless,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Scott Walker,
Anthony Braxton,
Soul II Soul,
Barrington Levy,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Black Sheep,
Piero Umiliani,
Althea and Donna,
Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses.
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.