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 Nicaragua and from Calgary.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 The Saints to the electroclash 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 Maleditus Sound. All the underground hits.
All Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Agent Orange record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Associates record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cosmic Jokers,
Arcadia,
Radiopuhelimet,
Gil Scott Heron,
Wasted Youth,
Lee Hazlewood,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Black Sheep,
Lungfish,
The Dave Clark Five,
a-ha,
Drexciya,
Nick Fraelich,
Henry Cow,
Mark Hollis,
Juan Atkins,
The Music Machine,
Saccharine Trust,
Pussy Galore,
Jacques Brel,
The Cowsills,
Letta Mbulu,
the Association,
Absolute Body Control,
Mission of Burma,
Bill Near,
Essential Logic,
Jesper Dahlback,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Index,
Accadde A,
H. Thieme,
Rufus Thomas,
The Pretty Things,
Swans,
Nas,
EPMD,
Sex Pistols,
Underground Resistance,
The Smiths,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Moody Blues,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Monks,
the Soft Cell,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Move,
Blancmange,
Quantec,
Idris Muhammad,
the Fania All-Stars,
Hasil Adkins,
The Durutti Column,
E-Dancer,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Modern Lovers,
F. McDonald,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Guru Guru,
Roxette,
Girls At Our Best!,
Nirvana, Nirvana, Nirvana, Nirvana.
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.