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 Comoros and from Winnipeg.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Porter Ricks to the grunge 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 X-Ray Spex. All the underground hits.
All Sunsets and Hearts tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Johnny Osbourne 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Danielle Patucci record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Yellowson,
The Zeros,
Franke,
Spandau Ballet,
Excepter,
Monks,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Jandek,
Girls At Our Best!,
Mission of Burma,
Popol Vuh,
Ice-T,
Judy Mowatt,
Kevin Saunderson,
World's Most,
Icehouse,
Index,
James White and The Blacks,
Flamin' Groovies,
Curtis Mayfield,
Ituana,
The Seeds,
The Martian,
The Leaves,
Arcadia,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Andrew Hill,
Parry Music,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Piero Umiliani,
Motorama,
Loose Ends,
Inner City,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Hot Snakes,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Sexual Harrassment,
Stereo Dub,
Public Enemy,
Subhumans,
Underground Resistance,
Grey Daturas,
Thompson Twins,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Howard Jones,
Khruangbin,
The Doobie Brothers,
Black Flag,
Alphaville,
Lee Hazlewood,
Anakelly,
Television,
Archie Shepp,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Adolescents,
Eve St. Jones,
Althea and Donna,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Bill Near,
Saccharine Trust,
Royal Trux,
Liliput,
Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop.
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.