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 Korea South and from Tehran.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the marimba 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 Man Parrish 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 Juan Atkins. All the underground hits.
All Kerrie Biddell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Music Machine record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a B.T. Express record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jawbox,
Joyce Sims,
Lucky Dragons,
The Standells,
Inner City,
Hashim,
Tomorrow,
The Smoke,
Young Marble Giants,
B.T. Express,
Quando Quango,
Jacob Miller,
The Angels of Light,
Gastr Del Sol,
Man Parrish,
Scan 7,
the Sonics,
Tropical Tobacco,
Spoonie Gee,
Leonard Cohen,
Masters at Work,
The Saints,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Black Sheep,
Mad Mike,
Oneida,
Skarface,
Fugazi,
Cameo,
The Black Dice,
Gang Gang Dance,
Morten Harket,
Alice Coltrane,
Charles Mingus,
The Cure,
Ituana,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Japan,
Brass Construction,
Lyres,
Radiohead,
New Age Steppers,
Depeche Mode,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Ossler,
Aural Exciters,
Robert Hood,
the Normal,
Pierre Henry,
Pere Ubu,
The Martian,
The Barracudas,
Nik Kershaw,
The Tremeloes,
Deepchord,
Flash Fearless,
Albert Ayler,
Infiniti,
Derrick Morgan,
Schoolly D,
The Sound, The Sound, The Sound, The Sound.
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.