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 Jordan and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Khruangbin to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Eve St. Jones. All the underground hits.
All The Durutti Column tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Andrew Hill record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terror Squad Feat. Camron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sex Pistols,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Gil Scott Heron,
Gerry Rafferty,
Yellowson,
Jacques Brel,
Warren Ellis,
Royal Trux,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Rekid,
MDC,
Barbara Tucker,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Grey Daturas,
The Motions,
Thompson Twins,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Moleskins,
The Dirtbombs,
The Red Krayola,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Modern Lovers,
The Flesh Eaters,
Big Daddy Kane,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Slave,
Anakelly,
Janne Schatter,
Bauhaus,
Sam Rivers,
Clear Light,
Boogie Down Productions,
Procol Harum,
The Dead C,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sixth Finger,
Bluetip,
Rotary Connection,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Joy Division,
Newcleus,
Marshall Jefferson,
Nation of Ulysses,
Deakin,
The Slackers,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Electric Prunes,
Wasted Youth,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Technova,
The Victims,
Brothers Johnson,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Music Machine,
Nik Kershaw,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Aaron Thompson,
Von Mondo,
New Order,
The Alarm Clocks,
Lalo Schifrin,
Smog,
Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus.
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.