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 India and from New York.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Frankie Knuckles to the grunge 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 Animal Collective. All the underground hits.
All Warsaw tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Young Marble Giants 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dirtbombs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cecil Taylor,
The Black Dice,
Can,
Morten Harket,
The Mojo Men,
Rakim,
The Durutti Column,
Pole,
T. Rex,
The Gun Club,
Liliput,
Swell Maps,
Susan Cadogan,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Sandy B,
The Remains,
Lungfish,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Smiths,
Kurtis Blow,
Eurythmics,
Funky Four + One,
Black Flag,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Trojans,
The Flesh Eaters,
Jacques Brel,
Bobby Womack,
Anakelly,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Ultravox,
The Shadows of Knight,
Cheater Slicks,
Hasil Adkins,
Mark Hollis,
Unwound,
David Axelrod,
the Human League,
The Beau Brummels,
One Last Wish,
Pussy Galore,
The Standells,
Wire,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Selecter,
New Order,
The Birthday Party,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Tremeloes,
Sonic Youth,
The Cramps,
D'Angelo,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Count Five,
10cc,
Erykah Badu,
Jeff Mills,
Intrusion,
Magazine,
the Sonics,
Brass Construction,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond.
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.