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 Comoros and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Laurel Aitken to the grime kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Little Man. All the underground hits.
All The Toasters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Desert Stars record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Don Cherry,
The Doors,
Radio Birdman,
Ludus,
Derrick Morgan,
Icehouse,
The Gun Club,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Marine Girls,
New Age Steppers,
Laurel Aitken,
Monolake,
Davy DMX,
Tubeway Army,
Pussy Galore,
Das Ding,
Byron Stingily,
Rites of Spring,
Neu!,
Agitation Free,
JFA,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
ABC,
Loose Ends,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Pagans,
Mark Hollis,
Bluetip,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Divine Comedy,
Fluxion,
Skaos,
The Raincoats,
The New Christs,
Bronski Beat,
The Move,
Scientists,
Sam Rivers,
The Toasters,
kango's stein massive,
The Velvet Underground,
Tomorrow,
Max Romeo,
Funkadelic,
a-ha,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Toni Rubio,
Soulsonic Force,
The Monks,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Slick Rick,
The Smiths,
The Five Americans,
Rekid,
Surgeon,
One Last Wish,
Marc Almond,
Aural Exciters,
Motorama,
Fugazi,
Magazine,
Eve St. Jones, Eve St. Jones, Eve St. Jones, Eve St. Jones.
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.