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 Denmark and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Flipper to the grime 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 Metal Thangz. All the underground hits.
All Barbara Tucker tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marcia Griffiths record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 güiro and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sad Lovers and Giants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Heaven 17,
Wings,
Crime,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Smog,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Invisible,
Infiniti,
Oblivians,
Toni Rubio,
Bob Dylan,
Tim Buckley,
The Music Machine,
The Misunderstood,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Little Man,
Youth Brigade,
Minnie Riperton,
June Days,
The Black Dice,
The Mummies,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Warsaw,
Interpol,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
DJ Sneak,
Parry Music,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Wally Richardson,
Yaz,
The Skatalites,
Radio Birdman,
The Residents,
the Swans,
Henry Cow,
Clear Light,
Theoretical Girls,
Soft Cell,
The Dave Clark Five,
Pulsallama,
Ultravox,
the Soft Cell,
Letta Mbulu,
Altered Images,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Gerry Rafferty,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Nirvana,
Sister Nancy,
Joey Negro,
Hoover,
Fear,
Agent Orange,
Monolake,
Don Cherry,
Iggy Pop,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Electric Prunes,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Deepchord,
Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle 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.