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 Libya and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Detroit Cobras to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Sexual Harrassment. All the underground hits.
All Prince Buster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kings Of Tomorrow record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a London Community Gospel Choir record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultravox,
John Coltrane,
Quadrant,
Ituana,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Sun Ra,
Tropical Tobacco,
Amazonics,
Lyres,
Monolake,
a-ha,
The Monochrome Set,
Man Parrish,
Deadbeat,
Con Funk Shun,
Juan Atkins,
the Normal,
Delon & Dalcan,
Pantytec,
Technova,
Stetsasonic,
The Gladiators,
Spandau Ballet,
The J.B.'s,
Skarface,
Q and Not U,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Cowsills,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Yazoo,
Zapp,
Soulsonic Force,
The Fire Engines,
K-Klass,
Make Up,
Unrelated Segments,
Janne Schatter,
Brick,
The Red Krayola,
Ronan,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Joy Division,
Porter Ricks,
Barbara Tucker,
The Raincoats,
Stiv Bators,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Jeff Lynne,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Black Pus,
The Mummies,
Joe Smooth,
H. Thieme,
Colin Newman,
Albert Ayler,
Buzzcocks,
Susan Cadogan,
The Birthday Party,
Stereo Dub,
Ten City,
R.M.O.,
The Motions, The Motions, The Motions, The Motions.
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.