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 Azerbaijan and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Man Eating Sloth to the disco kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Eric Copeland. All the underground hits.
All Eric Copeland tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Throbbing Gristle record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Glenn Branca record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bauhaus,
Sam Rivers,
Gabor Szabo,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Jesper Dahlback,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Faust,
Slave,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Public Enemy,
Excepter,
Brand Nubian,
Bobby Sherman,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Circle Jerks,
The Kinks,
Grey Daturas,
Inner City,
Radio Birdman,
Freddie Wadling,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
DNA,
Masters at Work,
Harry Pussy,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
EPMD,
Dave Gahan,
Marc Almond,
John Coltrane,
Popol Vuh,
E-Dancer,
Ralphi Rosario,
Erasure,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sonny Sharrock,
Smog,
The Barracudas,
Man Parrish,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Marshall Jefferson,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Jacob Miller,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Jandek,
Harmonia,
Stereo Dub,
Avey Tare,
Black Flag,
Suicide,
the Normal,
Ultravox,
Parry Music,
Model 500,
Glambeats Corp.,
Mark Hollis,
Lalann,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Heaven 17,
Ohio Players, Ohio Players, Ohio Players, Ohio Players.
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.