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 Ecuador and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 oboe 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 Babytalk to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 The Mojo Men. All the underground hits.
All Lee Hazlewood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Techniques record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 a guitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Panda Bear record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Music Machine,
Warsaw,
Theoretical Girls,
E-Dancer,
The Count Five,
Thompson Twins,
H. Thieme,
Ultra Naté,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Mr. Review,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Siglo XX,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Marshall Jefferson,
Bush Tetras,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Ossler,
The Birthday Party,
Mary Jane Girls,
Clear Light,
X-Ray Spex,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Tres Demented,
In Retrospect,
Circle Jerks,
Hot Snakes,
Glambeats Corp.,
Desert Stars,
Moebius,
The J.B.'s,
Laurel Aitken,
Radio Birdman,
The Black Dice,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Gang Starr,
The Fuzztones,
Y Pants,
Eddi Front,
The Residents,
Isaac Hayes,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Supertramp,
Matthew Bourne,
The Litter,
Derrick Morgan,
Rosa Yemen,
Johnny Osbourne,
The American Breed,
Lucky Dragons,
DJ Sneak,
The Selecter,
Mandrill,
Crooked Eye,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Trojans,
La Düsseldorf,
Au Pairs,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs.
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.