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 Luxembourg and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Sad Lovers and Giants to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Wake. All the underground hits.
All Morten Harket tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Shadows of Knight 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bootsy's Rubber Band 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?
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Flesh Eaters,
Barclay James Harvest,
Nation of Ulysses,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Oblivians,
Babytalk,
Parry Music,
Man Parrish,
The Dead C,
Spandau Ballet,
Isaac Hayes,
The Blues Magoos,
Gang Green,
New Order,
Harry Pussy,
Tom Boy,
The Birthday Party,
Subhumans,
Q65,
The Offenders,
Rekid,
Crispian St. Peters,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Sun Ra,
Au Pairs,
The Cosmic Jokers,
the Slits,
Barbara Tucker,
Derrick Morgan,
Whodini,
Warsaw,
The J.B.'s,
Mantronix,
Clear Light,
Scratch Acid,
Rotary Connection,
Sister Nancy,
Groovy Waters,
The Residents,
Oneida,
The Angels of Light,
Soul Sonic Force,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Leaves,
Kayak,
The Litter,
Model 500,
Intrusion,
Guru Guru,
DNA,
The Last Poets,
Desert Stars,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Gladiators,
Country Teasers,
Peter & Gordon,
Max Romeo,
Prince Buster,
Surgeon,
Sandy B,
Grauzone,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, Teenage Jesus and the Jerks.
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.