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 Mauritania and from Toronto.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Camouflage to the funk 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 Leonard Cohen. All the underground hits.
All Basic Channel tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Spandau Ballet record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobbi Humphrey record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sad Lovers and Giants,
David Bowie,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Ossler,
Rekid,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Letta Mbulu,
Easy Going,
Grey Daturas,
Quando Quango,
Visage,
Bobby Byrd,
Clear Light,
The Monks,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Angels of Light,
The Busters,
Bauhaus,
Camberwell Now,
the Slits,
The Dave Clark Five,
Urselle,
The Trojans,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Lungfish,
Desert Stars,
Sonic Youth,
The Sonics,
Shuggie Otis,
Jeru the Damaja,
Bush Tetras,
The Residents,
The Monochrome Set,
The Doors,
Adolescents,
Unrelated Segments,
Los Fastidios,
Gastr Del Sol,
Gang Green,
Silicon Teens,
Mad Mike,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Black Sheep,
Charles Mingus,
The Five Americans,
Procol Harum,
Glenn Branca,
Von Mondo,
Amon Düül II,
Donald Byrd,
Flash Fearless,
Underground Resistance,
Drexciya,
Alison Limerick,
Crash Course in Science,
Saccharine Trust,
Moebius,
Pet Shop Boys,
Liliput,
Dawn Penn,
Panda Bear, Panda Bear, Panda Bear, Panda Bear.
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.