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 Azerbaijan and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Eric Copeland to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Monolake. All the underground hits.
All Lafayette Afro Rock Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Malaria! 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 clarinet and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a R.M.O. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T.S.O.L.,
Andrew Hill,
World's Most,
The Angels of Light,
China Crisis,
Gil Scott Heron,
Joy Division,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Robert Görl,
Anthony Braxton,
The Alarm Clocks,
Nas,
John Lydon,
Whodini,
Popol Vuh,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
La Düsseldorf,
Excepter,
The Dirtbombs,
H. Thieme,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Funkadelic,
Eric Dolphy,
Marc Almond,
Marine Girls,
Warsaw,
Lou Reed,
Tubeway Army,
The Gories,
Black Pus,
Dawn Penn,
In Retrospect,
Juan Atkins,
Marcia Griffiths,
Fifty Foot Hose,
the Bar-Kays,
Reagan Youth,
Ronan,
Tim Buckley,
Animal Collective,
The Doors,
Tomorrow,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The J.B.'s,
MDC,
Maleditus Sound,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Robert Hood,
Depeche Mode,
Organ,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Jimmy McGriff,
Joensuu 1685,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Spandau Ballet,
Absolute Body Control,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Loose Ends,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
David McCallum,
Jandek,
The Searchers,
Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks.
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.