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 Finland and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Judy Mowatt to the rock kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Cluster. All the underground hits.
All Babytalk tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Faraquet record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nik Kershaw record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Traffic Nightmare,
The Invisible,
The Wake,
Circle Jerks,
Eurythmics,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
John Foxx,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Moss Icon,
Skaos,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Supertramp,
Bootsy Collins,
Ludus,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Black Flag,
Cheater Slicks,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Black Pus,
The Zeros,
June of 44,
Bad Manners,
Scrapy,
Fugazi,
Charles Mingus,
The Durutti Column,
Man Parrish,
The Fall,
Panda Bear,
F. McDonald,
The Doobie Brothers,
Swans,
Lower 48,
Nico,
The Kinks,
Idris Muhammad,
Joe Smooth,
Lalo Schifrin,
Gang Green,
U.S. Maple,
Fluxion,
Audionom,
Suicide,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Colin Newman,
Kenny Larkin,
Altered Images,
Soulsonic Force,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Leaves,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Throbbing Gristle,
Crooked Eye,
The Dave Clark Five,
T. Rex,
Make Up,
Roxy Music,
Scott Walker,
Chris & Cosey,
The Index, The Index, The Index, The Index.
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.