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 Iraq and from Manila.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Guru Guru to the dance 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 Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All Ronnie Foster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Pretty Things record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 spring reverb and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Reuben Wilson,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Cramps,
Lower 48,
Royal Trux,
Blossom Toes,
Tim Buckley,
The Beau Brummels,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
K-Klass,
Whodini,
The Pop Group,
Sixth Finger,
Thee Headcoats,
The Seeds,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Mark Hollis,
Suicide,
Derrick Morgan,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Sister Nancy,
Electric Prunes,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Bill Near,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Martian,
X-102,
The Barracudas,
Procol Harum,
The Grass Roots,
Soulsonic Force,
The Five Americans,
Grandmaster Flash,
James White and The Blacks,
The Names,
Sight & Sound,
Crash Course in Science,
Adolescents,
Severed Heads,
Josef K,
The Misunderstood,
Isaac Hayes,
The Smiths,
Thompson Twins,
Bush Tetras,
the Fania All-Stars,
the Association,
PIL,
The Young Rascals,
Nick Fraelich,
Stiv Bators,
Kenny Larkin,
Kurtis Blow,
Lalo Schifrin,
Ituana,
Patti Smith,
Mad Mike,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Ken Boothe,
Crispian St. Peters,
Black Sheep,
The Buckinghams,
Inner City,
Dead Boys,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.