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 Haiti and from Cairo.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 rhodes 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 The Moody Blues to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Kerri Chandler. All the underground hits.
All Depeche Mode tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Art Ensemble Of Chicago 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Agent Orange 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?
The Remains,
the Bar-Kays,
Warsaw,
These Immortal Souls,
Kevin Saunderson,
Erasure,
Cymande,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Yellowson,
Colin Newman,
Erykah Badu,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
David Bowie,
The Birthday Party,
The Angels of Light,
Mandrill,
Darondo,
Wings,
Sällskapet,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Busters,
Lalo Schifrin,
Lakeside,
Swell Maps,
The United States of America,
Monolake,
Scott Walker,
Derrick May,
The Blues Magoos,
Isaac Hayes,
Thee Headcoats,
Infiniti,
kango's stein massive,
Faraquet,
MDC,
Average White Band,
The Dead C,
Arab on Radar,
Stockholm Monsters,
Massinfluence,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Pop Group,
Alphaville,
Black Flag,
Maleditus Sound,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Last Poets,
Television Personalities,
The Mojo Men,
Deakin,
Franke,
The Divine Comedy,
Rites of Spring,
The Doors,
Pussy Galore,
Wire,
Leonard Cohen,
10cc, 10cc, 10cc, 10cc.
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.