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 Azerbaijan and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 The Smoke to the rap 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 The Shadows of Knight. All the underground hits.
All Niagra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deakin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
New Order,
World's Most,
D'Angelo,
Make Up,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Drive Like Jehu,
Kevin Saunderson,
Tres Demented,
Ten City,
Barrington Levy,
Newcleus,
The Invisible,
The Barracudas,
Bluetip,
Ronnie Foster,
Matthew Halsall,
Chris & Cosey,
Graham Central Station,
Young Marble Giants,
John Lydon,
The Birthday Party,
Harmonia,
The Move,
Pylon,
Jacob Miller,
Radiopuhelimet,
Flash Fearless,
T.S.O.L.,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Searchers,
Sun City Girls,
the Bar-Kays,
Tommy Roe,
Supertramp,
The Raincoats,
Soul II Soul,
Girls At Our Best!,
Sparks,
Ultravox,
Suicide,
Mary Jane Girls,
Marcia Griffiths,
Babytalk,
Cameo,
The Victims,
Robert Wyatt,
The Zeros,
Erykah Badu,
The Saints,
Goldenarms,
Deadbeat,
Pharoah Sanders,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Neu!,
Harpers Bizarre,
Maurizio,
The Misunderstood,
Rod Modell,
Circle Jerks,
Black Sheep,
Mo-Dettes,
Deepchord,
Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus, Charles Mingus.
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.