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 Uzbekistan and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 chamberlin 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 Dead C to the grunge 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 Electric Prunes. All the underground hits.
All Alphaville 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 punk 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 sitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Interpol record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Detroit Cobras,
Goldenarms,
The Velvet Underground,
Aural Exciters,
Graham Central Station,
F. McDonald,
Lalann,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Mojo Men,
Roxy Music,
Y Pants,
Neil Young,
Rotary Connection,
Soft Machine,
The New Christs,
John Holt,
Scott Walker,
Buzzcocks,
Deadbeat,
the Soft Cell,
Man Parrish,
Duran Duran,
Cal Tjader,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Mars,
The Golliwogs,
Chrome,
Magma,
Icehouse,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Selecter,
The Slits,
Sister Nancy,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
the Bar-Kays,
Maurizio,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
One Last Wish,
Desert Stars,
Ronnie Foster,
Jandek,
The Saints,
The Barracudas,
Judy Mowatt,
Pantaleimon,
Gabor Szabo,
The Dirtbombs,
Ornette Coleman,
Crispian St. Peters,
Amazonics,
Grandmaster Flash,
DJ Sneak,
Sonic Youth,
Jeff Mills,
Monks,
The Tremeloes,
Peter & Gordon,
David Axelrod,
The Angels of Light,
Freddie Wadling,
Delon & Dalcan,
Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama.
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.