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 Kitts & Nevis and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 David McCallum to the rock kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Eric B and Rakim. All the underground hits.
All The Walker Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Freddie Wadling record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 a guitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Martian record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pierre Henry,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Pulsallama,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Monks,
Wolf Eyes,
Icehouse,
The Monks,
DJ Style,
Aswad,
Blancmange,
The Real Kids,
Brothers Johnson,
Byron Stingily,
The Black Dice,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
FM Einheit,
The Slackers,
Intrusion,
Rod Modell,
Howard Jones,
Nico,
Motorama,
The Doors,
Crash Course in Science,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Soft Machine,
Idris Muhammad,
Bootsy Collins,
Whodini,
MDC,
Tom Boy,
Max Romeo,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Dawn Penn,
The Gun Club,
Subhumans,
Alice Coltrane,
Loose Ends,
K-Klass,
the Normal,
The Blues Magoos,
Talk Talk,
Sandy B,
Bad Manners,
Surgeon,
Royal Trux,
Connie Case,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Hoover,
Pere Ubu,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Blake Baxter,
Joensuu 1685,
The Angels of Light,
Outsiders,
Dead Boys,
Clear Light,
Quantec,
The Remains,
Tropical Tobacco,
Eve St. Jones,
Porter Ricks,
Audionom,
World's Most, World's Most, World's Most, World's Most.
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.