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 Haiti and from Accra.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the snare 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 Dead C 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 Glambeats Corp.. All the underground hits.
All Funky Four + One tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Move record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Make Up,
Tommy Roe,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Barclay James Harvest,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Don Cherry,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Television,
Erykah Badu,
DJ Style,
T. Rex,
Mark Hollis,
Neil Young,
Q65,
Wire,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Fluxion,
Eurythmics,
Colin Newman,
Moby Grape,
Cluster,
Circle Jerks,
Henry Cow,
Lou Christie,
The Wake,
Carl Craig,
Thee Headcoats,
UT,
The Trojans,
Severed Heads,
Buzzcocks,
Minny Pops,
Avey Tare,
Bush Tetras,
Chrome,
Neu!,
The Smiths,
John Cale,
The Cowsills,
Letta Mbulu,
The Alarm Clocks,
Piero Umiliani,
Cabaret Voltaire,
the Human League,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
New Age Steppers,
Pole,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Y Pants,
Stiv Bators,
Robert Hood,
Sugar Minott,
Charles Mingus,
Pagans,
Groovy Waters,
Arab on Radar,
Bauhaus,
Max Romeo,
Throbbing Gristle,
Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms.
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.