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 Oman and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Bang on a Can All-Stars to the electroclash 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 Buzzcocks. All the underground hits.
All The Dirtbombs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Panda Bear 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wasted Youth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Pretty Things,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Black Dice,
Pole,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The United States of America,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Nas,
The Neon Judgement,
Interpol,
Flash Fearless,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Index,
Magma,
Blancmange,
Ten City,
Iggy Pop,
Thee Headcoats,
The Angels of Light,
Hardrive,
Suicide,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Flipper,
Spoonie Gee,
Stetsasonic,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Amazonics,
Babytalk,
Angry Samoans,
James White and The Blacks,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Reuben Wilson,
Wasted Youth,
Yaz,
Depeche Mode,
Harry Pussy,
FM Einheit,
PIL,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Oneida,
Shuggie Otis,
The Real Kids,
Patti Smith,
Man Eating Sloth,
Underground Resistance,
Zapp,
Todd Rundgren,
Lungfish,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Moss Icon,
Intrusion,
The Seeds,
Rites of Spring,
Funky Four + One,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Los Fastidios,
Dawn Penn,
Max Romeo,
Sam Rivers,
B.T. Express,
Public Image Ltd.,
Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily.
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.