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 Nauru and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Louis and Bebe Barron to the punk 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 Birthday Party. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott Heron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Man Eating Sloth 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Selector Dub Narcotic record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Names,
Khruangbin,
the Swans,
Dave Gahan,
Malaria!,
Robert Görl,
Bad Manners,
Warsaw,
The Invisible,
Bobby Sherman,
Duran Duran,
Chris Corsano,
Inner City,
Aural Exciters,
Masters at Work,
The Standells,
the Association,
Eric B and Rakim,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Amazonics,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Loose Ends,
Stereo Dub,
The Evens,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Motorama,
Kool Moe Dee,
Archie Shepp,
Average White Band,
The Trojans,
Fat Boys,
Dark Day,
The Moleskins,
The Durutti Column,
Moby Grape,
Fear,
Andrew Hill,
John Foxx,
The Blackbyrds,
Warren Ellis,
Drexciya,
Alphaville,
Easy Going,
Reagan Youth,
Television Personalities,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Cowsills,
The Beau Brummels,
The Fall,
The Last Poets,
Skriet,
Wasted Youth,
the Germs,
Ultra Naté,
Gerry Rafferty,
Man Parrish,
Interpol,
Maleditus Sound,
Peter & Gordon,
Albert Ayler,
Crash Course in Science,
Stiv Bators, Stiv Bators, Stiv Bators, Stiv Bators.
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.