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 Liberia and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 arpeggiator 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 Camouflage to the rap 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 Fela Kuti. All the underground hits.
All Adolescents tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Velvet Underground record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funky Four + One record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lower 48,
Jesper Dahlback,
Josef K,
Sex Pistols,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Trumans Water,
Crispian St. Peters,
John Coltrane,
Jeru the Damaja,
Quantec,
F. McDonald,
Heaven 17,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Babytalk,
The Blackbyrds,
D'Angelo,
Lucky Dragons,
Erasure,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Fad Gadget,
The Black Dice,
Roxy Music,
Barry Ungar,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Eddi Front,
U.S. Maple,
Q and Not U,
New York Dolls,
Graham Central Station,
The Stooges,
Danielle Patucci,
Cymande,
Drive Like Jehu,
Ultravox,
T. Rex,
Inner City,
The Fuzztones,
Mark Hollis,
Lungfish,
The United States of America,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Mary Jane Girls,
Bill Near,
Swans,
MDC,
A Flock of Seagulls,
a-ha,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Godley & Creme,
Judy Mowatt,
Dawn Penn,
the Association,
Gastr Del Sol,
Dead Boys,
Bang On A Can,
Camberwell Now,
Icehouse,
Robert Wyatt,
Stereo Dub,
Royal Trux,
Deakin, Deakin, Deakin, Deakin.
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.