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 Columbus.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Cameo to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Desert Stars. All the underground hits.
All Groovy Waters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Blues Magoos record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Detroit Cobras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba 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 Busters,
June Days,
Average White Band,
Electric Prunes,
Mantronix,
Cheater Slicks,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Saints,
The Blues Magoos,
Terrestrial Tones,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Skatalites,
Lalann,
New Order,
John Lydon,
The American Breed,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Michelle Simonal,
The Index,
The United States of America,
T. Rex,
Warren Ellis,
The Mojo Men,
Terry Callier,
Model 500,
Andrew Hill,
Guru Guru,
Matthew Halsall,
Nik Kershaw,
Robert Hood,
Babytalk,
Popol Vuh,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Roy Ayers,
the Swans,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Skaos,
James White and The Blacks,
Mad Mike,
Kerri Chandler,
Brick,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Golliwogs,
Henry Cow,
Tom Boy,
Barry Ungar,
Altered Images,
Skriet,
Pantytec,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Metal Thangz,
Traffic Nightmare,
MC5,
Joy Division,
Maleditus Sound,
The J.B.'s,
Symarip,
Eric Dolphy,
Zero Boys,
Malaria!,
Lou Christie,
Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca.
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.