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 Panama and from Edmonton.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Pere Ubu to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Teenage Jesus and the Jerks. All the underground hits.
All Stockholm Monsters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every De La Soul & Jungle Brothers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The American Breed record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kaleidoscope,
Arcadia,
The Music Machine,
Lightning Bolt,
Erasure,
The Velvet Underground,
Ornette Coleman,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Fat Boys,
Rhythm & Sound,
Roxette,
Ponytail,
Liliput,
Sun Ra,
X-Ray Spex,
Intrusion,
Black Pus,
Black Bananas,
Grey Daturas,
Loose Ends,
Funkadelic,
Graham Central Station,
FM Einheit,
Groovy Waters,
Dennis Brown,
Janne Schatter,
Infiniti,
the Fania All-Stars,
Japan,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Cybotron,
Robert Hood,
The Index,
John Lydon,
Eddi Front,
Panda Bear,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Vainqueur,
Goldenarms,
Soulsonic Force,
Average White Band,
Stiv Bators,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Bobby Sherman,
Hot Snakes,
Ludus,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Minny Pops,
Interpol,
The New Christs,
The Residents,
the Association,
Country Teasers,
The Flesh Eaters,
Throbbing Gristle,
Magazine,
La Düsseldorf,
The Fire Engines,
Smog,
Ronnie Foster,
The Cramps,
Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond.
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.