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 Cameroon and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Suicide to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Angry Samoans. All the underground hits.
All Yazoo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eric B and Rakim 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mission of Burma record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harry Pussy,
Dawn Penn,
Bang On A Can,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Smog,
Thee Headcoats,
Ice-T,
Fatback Band,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Theoretical Girls,
Bob Dylan,
John Lydon,
Cal Tjader,
Brick,
Joey Negro,
Goldenarms,
Trumans Water,
The Durutti Column,
Minnie Riperton,
Blossom Toes,
Kas Product,
Freddie Wadling,
Monolake,
Prince Buster,
The Star Department,
The Count Five,
Animal Collective,
Barry Ungar,
Quadrant,
Joe Smooth,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Black Sheep,
Hashim,
Outsiders,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Vladislav Delay,
Harpers Bizarre,
Rhythm & Sound,
Gang Starr,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Unrelated Segments,
Minutemen,
MC5,
Mr. Review,
Marvin Gaye,
Scrapy,
The New Christs,
Jeff Mills,
Malaria!,
The Doobie Brothers,
Suicide,
Peter & Gordon,
Agitation Free,
The Fugs,
Warren Ellis,
B.T. Express,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Erasure,
The Beau Brummels,
Public Image Ltd.,
F. McDonald,
Unwound,
Todd Terry,
Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh.
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.