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 Tunisia and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Frankie Knuckles to the techno kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Boogie Down Productions. All the underground hits.
All The Cosmic Jokers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every These Immortal Souls 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Wake record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
FM Einheit,
Excepter,
The Residents,
Newcleus,
Max Romeo,
Altered Images,
Delta 5,
Wire,
Gang Starr,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Jeff Mills,
Deepchord,
The Doobie Brothers,
Interpol,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Thompson Twins,
Mad Mike,
The Golliwogs,
Aloha Tigers,
Lucky Dragons,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Searchers,
Black Pus,
Jerry's Kids,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Amazonics,
KRS-One,
Yazoo,
The Leaves,
Eden Ahbez,
Radiohead,
The New Christs,
Trumans Water,
Dead Boys,
Malaria!,
The Mummies,
The Standells,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Rites of Spring,
The Knickerbockers,
Erasure,
Circle Jerks,
Lakeside,
Ultravox,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Tremeloes,
Marshall Jefferson,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Junior Murvin,
Joey Negro,
John Holt,
Stiv Bators,
Duran Duran,
Pylon,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Marc Almond,
Television Personalities,
Model 500,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch, Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch.
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.