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 Bolivia and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Golliwogs to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks. All the underground hits.
All Technova tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ajijia Myrayebe record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sad Lovers and Giants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Eve St. Jones,
Minnie Riperton,
Boz Scaggs,
the Fania All-Stars,
Marine Girls,
Al Stewart,
The Trojans,
Stiv Bators,
The Barracudas,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Freddie Wadling,
Ken Boothe,
The Beau Brummels,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Saints,
Sandy B,
Harry Pussy,
Eric Copeland,
The Cowsills,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Mantronix,
The Fortunes,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Animal Collective,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Tremeloes,
John Foxx,
Inner City,
Urselle,
Motorama,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Radiopuhelimet,
Pylon,
The Index,
Smog,
Lightning Bolt,
The Blues Magoos,
Rakim,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Funky Four + One,
Marshall Jefferson,
Anakelly,
Wally Richardson,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Neil Young,
Japan,
The Fugs,
Severed Heads,
Judy Mowatt,
Livin' Joy,
Lou Reed,
R.M.O.,
Youth Brigade,
Albert Ayler,
Suburban Knight,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Piero Umiliani,
Rekid,
Mr. Review, Mr. Review, Mr. Review, Mr. Review.
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.