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 Lithuania and from Columbus.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Blake Baxter to the electroclash 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 Curtis Mayfield. All the underground hits.
All Sugar Minott tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rakim record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
ABBA,
One Last Wish,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Crispy Ambulance,
Sex Pistols,
Ultravox,
Peter and Kerry,
DJ Style,
Iggy Pop,
Zero Boys,
Minutemen,
Big Daddy Kane,
Essential Logic,
X-101,
Connie Case,
Lou Reed,
Index,
FM Einheit,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Max Romeo,
Lebanon Hanover,
ABC,
The Names,
Niagra,
Stiv Bators,
Gang of Four,
Country Teasers,
Cameo,
Icehouse,
Albert Ayler,
The Detroit Cobras,
Main Source,
Scratch Acid,
KRS-One,
Nik Kershaw,
Byron Stingily,
Kayak,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
D'Angelo,
Sparks,
Minor Threat,
The Offenders,
Rod Modell,
Make Up,
The Flesh Eaters,
DJ Sneak,
Bronski Beat,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Joensuu 1685,
Das Ding,
Barry Ungar,
Ludus,
Can,
World's Most,
The Cure,
Scion,
Loose Ends,
Radio Birdman,
Livin' Joy,
The Slits, The Slits, The Slits, The Slits.
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.