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 Nicaragua and from Copenhagen.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 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 Angels of Light to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Sällskapet. All the underground hits.
All Mad Mike tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Inner City record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 808 and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lebanon Hanover record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crooked Eye,
T. Rex,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Easy Going,
The Happenings,
Panda Bear,
Hot Snakes,
H. Thieme,
Los Fastidios,
Television Personalities,
Dawn Penn,
Minny Pops,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Slick Rick,
Scott Walker,
Prince Buster,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Tears for Fears,
Roxette,
Boogie Down Productions,
AZ,
Kerrie Biddell,
X-101,
Mars,
Bob Dylan,
Brothers Johnson,
Agitation Free,
The Sound,
Fela Kuti,
The Black Dice,
Soul II Soul,
Stereo Dub,
The Leaves,
Joey Negro,
Cal Tjader,
The Cowsills,
Alice Coltrane,
Marshall Jefferson,
Black Flag,
The Searchers,
Agent Orange,
New Age Steppers,
The Dave Clark Five,
Dave Gahan,
Sixth Finger,
The Slits,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Pulsallama,
Silicon Teens,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Residents,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Raincoats,
Pagans,
Radio Birdman,
Wolf Eyes,
Accadde A,
Idris Muhammad,
Adolescents,
Von Mondo,
Fad Gadget,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Blackbyrds, The Blackbyrds, The Blackbyrds, The Blackbyrds.
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.