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 Iceland and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Portland.
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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Fugs to the techno kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Selector Dub Narcotic. All the underground hits.
All Liaisons Dangereuses tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Doobie Brothers 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 guitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Buzzcocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Hasil Adkins,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Tremeloes,
Delon & Dalcan,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Dirtbombs,
E-Dancer,
The United States of America,
Tommy Roe,
Bang On A Can,
Donald Byrd,
Vainqueur,
The Grass Roots,
Black Pus,
Nico,
A Flock of Seagulls,
CMW,
Anthony Braxton,
Faust,
A Certain Ratio,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Trojans,
Moss Icon,
Sound Behaviour,
Infiniti,
The Remains,
Underground Resistance,
Ice-T,
Pylon,
Blake Baxter,
X-102,
Lucky Dragons,
The Blues Magoos,
The Music Machine,
Bobby Womack,
Scrapy,
Pagans,
The Doors,
Roxette,
Bad Manners,
Marcia Griffiths,
Rotary Connection,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Leonard Cohen,
The Beau Brummels,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Joey Negro,
Bill Wells,
the Sonics,
Stockholm Monsters,
Silicon Teens,
Tres Demented,
Altered Images,
Johnny Clarke,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Sight & Sound,
Arab on Radar,
Slave,
The Mummies,
F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald.
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.