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 Philippines and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch to the rap kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Pop Group. All the underground hits.
All Easy Going tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Infiniti 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jeru the Damaja record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deepchord,
Amon Düül,
Swans,
The Techniques,
Fluxion,
Deadbeat,
Nirvana,
Excepter,
The Five Americans,
The Residents,
Traffic Nightmare,
U.S. Maple,
Deakin,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
the Human League,
Brick,
The Move,
Todd Terry,
Warsaw,
Organ,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Angels of Light,
The Kinks,
Fatback Band,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Skatalites,
Alice Coltrane,
Bob Dylan,
The Mummies,
Neu!,
Yusef Lateef,
The Detroit Cobras,
James White and The Blacks,
Thee Headcoats,
Robert Hood,
Sonny Sharrock,
Kerri Chandler,
Lou Christie,
Ronan,
Rhythm & Sound,
Average White Band,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Monks,
The Vogues,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Scott Walker,
Arthur Verocai,
Hasil Adkins,
The Offenders,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Public Image Ltd.,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Suburban Knight,
Radio Birdman,
Scan 7,
Eurythmics,
X-Ray Spex,
The Neon Judgement,
Matthew Bourne,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Jandek,
F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald.
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.