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 Libya and from Edmonton.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Moby Grape to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Porter Ricks. All the underground hits.
All Iggy Pop tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every MDC 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Beasts of Bourbon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Durutti Column,
the Bar-Kays,
Amazonics,
Quantec,
Livin' Joy,
B.T. Express,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Pet Shop Boys,
Dual Sessions,
Oblivians,
Mandrill,
Saccharine Trust,
The J.B.'s,
The Litter,
The Sonics,
James White and The Blacks,
June of 44,
the Germs,
Kaleidoscope,
The Blackbyrds,
Curtis Mayfield,
Pylon,
DJ Sneak,
Monolake,
Harry Pussy,
Amon Düül,
The Cowsills,
Silicon Teens,
Sugar Minott,
Ossler,
The Neon Judgement,
Vladislav Delay,
Smog,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Jacob Miller,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Warren Ellis,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
the Slits,
Jacques Brel,
Jawbox,
Gang Gang Dance,
Sonny Sharrock,
T. Rex,
Con Funk Shun,
Peter & Gordon,
Henry Cow,
Danielle Patucci,
Nirvana,
ABC,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Laurel Aitken,
The Gladiators,
Zero Boys,
Lyres,
The Gories,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Peter and Kerry,
Minor Threat,
The Monochrome Set,
The Slackers,
the Human League,
Derrick May, Derrick May, Derrick May, Derrick May.
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.