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 Kyrgyzstan and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
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 The Blackbyrds to the jazz 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 Bootsy's Rubber Band. All the underground hits.
All Black Pus tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Moody Blues record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Tremeloes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Doors,
Maleditus Sound,
Susan Cadogan,
Mary Jane Girls,
Radiohead,
Severed Heads,
MDC,
The Real Kids,
Nirvana,
Ultimate Spinach,
Alison Limerick,
Aural Exciters,
The Invisible,
Jerry's Kids,
The Star Department,
The United States of America,
Tubeway Army,
Excepter,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Martian,
Yellowson,
the Human League,
Pussy Galore,
the Sonics,
Funkadelic,
The Walker Brothers,
ABC,
The Raincoats,
The Remains,
The Offenders,
R.M.O.,
Simply Red,
The Happenings,
Swans,
Zero Boys,
Terrestrial Tones,
Neu!,
Bizarre Inc.,
Soul II Soul,
Lebanon Hanover,
Erykah Badu,
Schoolly D,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Blancmange,
The Wake,
Sister Nancy,
Janne Schatter,
Robert Hood,
Freddie Wadling,
The Flesh Eaters,
Subhumans,
B.T. Express,
U.S. Maple,
the Fania All-Stars,
Pole,
Henry Cow,
The Blues Magoos,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Monolake,
The American Breed,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
John Holt, John Holt, John Holt, John Holt.
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.