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 St Lucia and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 marimba 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 Neil Young & Crazy Horse to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Pere Ubu. All the underground hits.
All The Pretty Things tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every B.T. Express 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Q65,
Scientists,
Flash Fearless,
Television,
Little Man,
Jeff Mills,
Vladislav Delay,
Henry Cow,
Gang Starr,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Angels of Light,
H. Thieme,
Kurtis Blow,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Robert Hood,
Sight & Sound,
the Association,
Faust,
Barclay James Harvest,
Ken Boothe,
Matthew Bourne,
Zapp,
Minutemen,
Jawbox,
Sonic Youth,
Echospace,
Kool Moe Dee,
U.S. Maple,
Scott Walker,
Cluster,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Khruangbin,
The Five Americans,
Idris Muhammad,
Amon Düül,
Ice-T,
Alice Coltrane,
Neil Young,
The Blackbyrds,
Y Pants,
Wolf Eyes,
The Cowsills,
This Heat,
Arthur Verocai,
Mary Jane Girls,
China Crisis,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Red Krayola,
Joe Smooth,
Dawn Penn,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Stetsasonic,
Hot Snakes,
The Real Kids,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Althea and Donna,
the Normal,
Mad Mike,
Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail.
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.