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 Madagascar and from Milan.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Crispian St. Peters to the rock kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Traffic Nightmare. All the underground hits.
All Rufus Thomas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every New Order record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a DJ Style record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Slick Rick,
Los Fastidios,
the Normal,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Suicide,
Rakim,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Crime,
Sun City Girls,
Hashim,
Suburban Knight,
Lindisfarne,
Throbbing Gristle,
Q and Not U,
Au Pairs,
Bobby Sherman,
Crispian St. Peters,
Tom Boy,
F. McDonald,
The Victims,
Agent Orange,
Technova,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Beau Brummels,
Main Source,
Black Bananas,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Arthur Verocai,
The Move,
Eve St. Jones,
MDC,
The Star Department,
UT,
Deepchord,
These Immortal Souls,
The Gories,
Wings,
Warsaw,
Susan Cadogan,
Nik Kershaw,
Prince Buster,
Panda Bear,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Associates,
Minnie Riperton,
AZ,
Johnny Osbourne,
Q65,
Kerrie Biddell,
Siglo XX,
Peter and Kerry,
Pole,
John Holt,
Khruangbin,
Robert Hood,
the Soft Cell,
Rhythm & Sound,
Bizarre Inc.,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Reagan Youth,
The Fortunes,
The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones, The Fuzztones.
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.