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 Romania and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Visage to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 E-Dancer. All the underground hits.
All Lafayette Afro Rock Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Curtis Mayfield 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Parrish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
U.S. Maple,
Graham Central Station,
MDC,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Neil Young,
Sister Nancy,
Icehouse,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Infiniti,
The Kinks,
The Beau Brummels,
A Certain Ratio,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Juan Atkins,
Max Romeo,
The Electric Prunes,
The Trojans,
Stiv Bators,
Rosa Yemen,
Newcleus,
Pharoah Sanders,
Q65,
Charles Mingus,
Joe Finger,
Thee Headcoats,
Radiohead,
The Index,
Nick Fraelich,
Tears for Fears,
Robert Görl,
Avey Tare,
James White and The Blacks,
JFA,
Kaleidoscope,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Doobie Brothers,
Sandy B,
Donald Byrd,
Dead Boys,
Connie Case,
John Holt,
Matthew Halsall,
Eden Ahbez,
F. McDonald,
The Moleskins,
Terrestrial Tones,
Suicide,
the Association,
The Modern Lovers,
Soft Machine,
Roger Hodgson,
Lightning Bolt,
Scott Walker,
Marvin Gaye,
Laurel Aitken,
Vainqueur,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Country Teasers,
L. Decosne,
The Remains,
Animal Collective,
Maleditus Sound,
Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division.
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.