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 Afghanistan and from Halifax.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Stereo Dub to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Warsaw. All the underground hits.
All Scratch Acid tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Human League 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sixth Finger record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Thee Headcoats,
Bobby Sherman,
Aloha Tigers,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Litter,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Michelle Simonal,
Interpol,
Malaria!,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
B.T. Express,
Inner City,
F. McDonald,
Gichy Dan,
Rotary Connection,
the Human League,
Nico,
Livin' Joy,
Desert Stars,
Public Enemy,
Intrusion,
Young Marble Giants,
FM Einheit,
Wire,
Soft Machine,
The Real Kids,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
David McCallum,
Wolf Eyes,
Alton Ellis,
Brick,
The Fire Engines,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Camberwell Now,
AZ,
Junior Murvin,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Letta Mbulu,
Dead Boys,
The Star Department,
Outsiders,
Ronan,
Judy Mowatt,
Derrick Morgan,
Juan Atkins,
The Saints,
David Bowie,
The Kinks,
Erasure,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Moody Blues,
Scratch Acid,
T.S.O.L.,
Throbbing Gristle,
Eric B and Rakim,
Pole,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Blossom Toes,
Technova,
David Axelrod, David Axelrod, David Axelrod, David Axelrod.
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.