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 Slovenia and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1961 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Bill Wells to the electroclash 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 Kenny Larkin. All the underground hits.
All Kevin Saunderson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Aswad record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Gories,
Jeru the Damaja,
D'Angelo,
The Skatalites,
The Happenings,
The Star Department,
Boredoms,
Symarip,
Fela Kuti,
Smog,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Icehouse,
Blake Baxter,
Sex Pistols,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Fuzztones,
H. Thieme,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Smoke,
John Cale,
Freddie Wadling,
FM Einheit,
DJ Sneak,
Little Man,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Tres Demented,
Tropical Tobacco,
MDC,
Vainqueur,
The Walker Brothers,
Pylon,
X-101,
Cybotron,
New Age Steppers,
Danielle Patucci,
Pussy Galore,
Black Sheep,
Mary Jane Girls,
Alice Coltrane,
Franke,
In Retrospect,
Nation of Ulysses,
June of 44,
The Dirtbombs,
The Red Krayola,
cv313,
Darondo,
Rosa Yemen,
Circle Jerks,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Fortunes,
Gang Gang Dance,
Ralphi Rosario,
Hasil Adkins,
The J.B.'s,
Soft Cell,
The Alarm Clocks,
Mandrill,
Josef K,
Pantytec,
Arab on Radar,
Aloha Tigers, Aloha Tigers, Aloha Tigers, Aloha Tigers.
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.