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 Malaysia and from Copenhagen.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Sandy B to the techno 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 The Neon Judgement. All the underground hits.
All Nils Olav tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 harpsichord and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gil Scott Heron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oneida,
ABC,
Barry Ungar,
Gang Gang Dance,
Wolf Eyes,
The Angels of Light,
Eli Mardock,
Can,
Throbbing Gristle,
Isaac Hayes,
Con Funk Shun,
The Standells,
Cymande,
Blake Baxter,
The New Christs,
The Barracudas,
The Gun Club,
The Invisible,
Warsaw,
Lower 48,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Knickerbockers,
Cybotron,
Flamin' Groovies,
Japan,
Audionom,
Smog,
Desert Stars,
Qualms,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Black Bananas,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Fall,
K-Klass,
Pantaleimon,
Barrington Levy,
Television,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Scott Walker,
Sarah Menescal,
Drive Like Jehu,
John Foxx,
Marc Almond,
Crispy Ambulance,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Procol Harum,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Icehouse,
The United States of America,
Jawbox,
Agitation Free,
Make Up,
Tim Buckley,
Shoche,
John Cale,
Symarip,
Alton Ellis,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Avey Tare,
Hasil Adkins,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Kinks,
Ronan, Ronan, Ronan, Ronan.
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.