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 Ivory Coast and from Madrid.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
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 Michelle Simonal to the rap 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 Alison Limerick. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Womack tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Names 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sex Pistols,
Donny Hathaway,
Gichy Dan,
Rod Modell,
Interpol,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Durutti Column,
Warren Ellis,
Sam Rivers,
The Grass Roots,
Sexual Harrassment,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Symarip,
June Days,
The American Breed,
Tears for Fears,
Skriet,
Masters at Work,
Piero Umiliani,
Adolescents,
8 Eyed Spy,
Pet Shop Boys,
Basic Channel,
The Birthday Party,
Lungfish,
Malaria!,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
the Soft Cell,
Hashim,
Magazine,
The Techniques,
Slave,
JFA,
Laurel Aitken,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
DJ Style,
John Coltrane,
Wally Richardson,
Sun City Girls,
Eden Ahbez,
Boredoms,
Pharoah Sanders,
Sandy B,
Los Fastidios,
Pussy Galore,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Blackbyrds,
Fela Kuti,
MC5,
Ten City,
Roger Hodgson,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Toni Rubio,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Index,
Black Pus,
Lindisfarne,
Kool Moe Dee,
Sonny Sharrock,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Circle Jerks,
The Names, The Names, The Names, The Names.
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.