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 Spain and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Moss Icon to the disco kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane. All the underground hits.
All The Wake tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fortunes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gabor Szabo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pantytec,
The Star Department,
James White and The Blacks,
The American Breed,
The Red Krayola,
Urselle,
Pet Shop Boys,
Young Marble Giants,
Henry Cow,
The Cramps,
Adolescents,
Smog,
Eurythmics,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Pretty Things,
Underground Resistance,
Blancmange,
June of 44,
48th St. Collective,
Swell Maps,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Das Ding,
Bobby Sherman,
Bush Tetras,
Peter and Kerry,
Clear Light,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Sparks,
X-Ray Spex,
PIL,
The Doors,
Rosa Yemen,
Jacques Brel,
Fear,
The Smiths,
Model 500,
The Dirtbombs,
Donald Byrd,
The Cowsills,
The Grass Roots,
Robert Görl,
The Litter,
The Tremeloes,
Barry Ungar,
Grandmaster Flash,
Nico,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Bauhaus,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Chrome,
John Coltrane,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Steve Hackett,
Mr. Review,
The Real Kids,
Althea and Donna,
Monks,
Black Pus,
Grey Daturas,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Pulsallama,
Throbbing Gristle,
Altered Images, Altered Images, Altered Images, Altered Images.
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.