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 Bahamas and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 United States of America to the grunge 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 Sällskapet. All the underground hits.
All Severed Heads tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sex Pistols record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scratch Acid,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Suburban Knight,
The Blackbyrds,
B.T. Express,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Fear,
kango's stein massive,
John Lydon,
Kevin Saunderson,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Piero Umiliani,
Fluxion,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Leaves,
Slave,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Aloha Tigers,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Smiths,
Fugazi,
The Last Poets,
Jimmy McGriff,
Johnny Clarke,
CMW,
Excepter,
D'Angelo,
Alphaville,
Ponytail,
Judy Mowatt,
The Names,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Eve St. Jones,
Quantec,
X-101,
Animal Collective,
Rosa Yemen,
Ornette Coleman,
Ituana,
Severed Heads,
Boogie Down Productions,
Bang On A Can,
Davy DMX,
Sight & Sound,
Wolf Eyes,
Lou Reed,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Victims,
The Residents,
John Coltrane,
The Cowsills,
Blancmange,
10cc,
Camouflage,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Glambeats Corp.,
Marmalade,
The Searchers,
Dorothy Ashby,
The New Christs,
ABC,
Scott Walker,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms.
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.