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 Algeria and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 oboe 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 James Chance & The Contortions to the electroclash 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 The Saints. All the underground hits.
All 8 Eyed Spy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Danielle Patucci record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 chamberlin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lower 48 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Seeds,
Bluetip,
Wolf Eyes,
Crispian St. Peters,
Laurel Aitken,
Livin' Joy,
Eric B and Rakim,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
L. Decosne,
Marshall Jefferson,
Harry Pussy,
Index,
Television,
Surgeon,
Mr. Review,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Minnie Riperton,
The Slackers,
The Smoke,
Lalann,
Jacques Brel,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Ludus,
Funkadelic,
Robert Görl,
Mission of Burma,
Derrick Morgan,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Lalo Schifrin,
Matthew Bourne,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Blackbyrds,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Kayak,
Moebius,
Alice Coltrane,
Blake Baxter,
Kerri Chandler,
Boredoms,
Erasure,
The Searchers,
ABC,
Lightning Bolt,
Idris Muhammad,
Ralphi Rosario,
Duran Duran,
Spandau Ballet,
Andrew Hill,
Nils Olav,
Interpol,
Gregory Isaacs,
Vladislav Delay,
Suicide,
Ronan,
Slick Rick,
Gichy Dan,
A Certain Ratio,
Monolake,
John Coltrane,
Blancmange, Blancmange, Blancmange, Blancmange.
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.