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 Dominican Republic and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Happenings to the rap 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 The Standells. All the underground hits.
All The Young Rascals tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Vladislav Delay record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terry Callier record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brick,
Smog,
The Sonics,
Von Mondo,
Monolake,
The Doobie Brothers,
Rakim,
Accadde A,
The New Christs,
Popol Vuh,
8 Eyed Spy,
Amon Düül,
Maleditus Sound,
John Holt,
the Slits,
Royal Trux,
Bobby Byrd,
the Swans,
Stockholm Monsters,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Bill Near,
Pantytec,
Dual Sessions,
The Fuzztones,
Second Layer,
Warren Ellis,
Skaos,
Kaleidoscope,
Michelle Simonal,
the Bar-Kays,
Tommy Roe,
Dead Boys,
Mars,
Brothers Johnson,
Silicon Teens,
Metal Thangz,
Bobby Sherman,
Qualms,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Moby Grape,
Jeff Mills,
Vladislav Delay,
LL Cool J,
Gil Scott Heron,
H. Thieme,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
June Days,
Inner City,
The Modern Lovers,
Depeche Mode,
Glenn Branca,
Grey Daturas,
Soft Machine,
The Standells,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Gang Green,
David Axelrod,
Yellowson,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Sound,
Duran Duran,
The Evens, The Evens, The Evens, The Evens.
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.