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 Grenada and from Toronto.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Jakarta.
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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Sun Ra Arkestra 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 The Alarm Clocks. All the underground hits.
All Unrelated Segments tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ash Ra Tempel record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pere Ubu,
Schoolly D,
Swell Maps,
Reagan Youth,
The Pretty Things,
Index,
Interpol,
The Fugs,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Duran Duran,
Technova,
The Dead C,
Khruangbin,
Tommy Roe,
Warsaw,
Magma,
Maleditus Sound,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Wake,
The Alarm Clocks,
Crispian St. Peters,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Move,
Fatback Band,
The Monks,
Public Enemy,
Gang of Four,
Lalann,
Davy DMX,
The Martian,
Skarface,
Gabor Szabo,
Sam Rivers,
FM Einheit,
Sixth Finger,
Unwound,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Birthday Party,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Franke,
The American Breed,
Gang Starr,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
the Association,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Don Cherry,
Fear,
Pole,
Pussy Galore,
Hoover,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Fortunes,
Faraquet,
The Leaves,
LL Cool J,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Kinks,
Dorothy Ashby,
Sister Nancy,
Groovy Waters,
Q65,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Sparks, Sparks, Sparks, Sparks.
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.