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 East Timor and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Nirvana to the dance kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Music Machine. All the underground hits.
All Sixth Finger tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Reuben Wilson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Lower 48,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Duran Duran,
Anthony Braxton,
Wings,
Alison Limerick,
Au Pairs,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Bobby Sherman,
Boredoms,
Freddie Wadling,
The Monks,
Faraquet,
Sugar Minott,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Minutemen,
Albert Ayler,
Dave Gahan,
The Tremeloes,
LL Cool J,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Swans,
Banda Bassotti,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Gories,
X-Ray Spex,
Ultravox,
Eden Ahbez,
Shuggie Otis,
Bush Tetras,
Bang On A Can,
the Association,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Donald Byrd,
Swell Maps,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Al Stewart,
Khruangbin,
Arcadia,
Marc Almond,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The United States of America,
Nik Kershaw,
Skarface,
Stetsasonic,
Rosa Yemen,
a-ha,
Can,
The Pretty Things,
the Bar-Kays,
Andrew Hill,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Deepchord,
Bootsy Collins,
Susan Cadogan,
Scan 7,
Procol Harum,
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, Suicide.
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.