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 Greece and from Beijing.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Jawbox to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Frankie Knuckles. All the underground hits.
All Das Ding tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Anthony Braxton record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Move record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro 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 Zeros,
Sandy B,
The Fugs,
Tommy Roe,
Sun Ra,
EPMD,
Panda Bear,
Max Romeo,
Pharoah Sanders,
Sex Pistols,
Glenn Branca,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Von Mondo,
ABC,
Neil Young,
Dual Sessions,
Toni Rubio,
The Doobie Brothers,
Isaac Hayes,
John Lydon,
One Last Wish,
Reuben Wilson,
Tropical Tobacco,
Rufus Thomas,
the Slits,
Hashim,
Man Eating Sloth,
U.S. Maple,
The Busters,
Nico,
Motorama,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Blake Baxter,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Offenders,
Deakin,
Iggy Pop,
David Axelrod,
Clear Light,
Television Personalities,
Organ,
Faraquet,
Gang Green,
The Detroit Cobras,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Yellowson,
Severed Heads,
Howard Jones,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Searchers,
The Names,
The Modern Lovers,
Underground Resistance,
Khruangbin,
Bronski Beat,
The Durutti Column,
Alice Coltrane,
Ultravox,
Silicon Teens,
Circle Jerks,
Cheater Slicks,
Lyres, Lyres, Lyres, Lyres.
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.