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 Bhutan and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Shanghai.
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 organ 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 Raincoats to the grime 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 Boredoms. All the underground hits.
All Lonnie Liston Smith tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Peter and Kerry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Reuben Wilson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ 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 Pretty Things,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Invisible,
The Kinks,
Piero Umiliani,
World's Most,
DNA,
Pharoah Sanders,
Suburban Knight,
The J.B.'s,
Joyce Sims,
Main Source,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Scrapy,
Bobby Byrd,
Mantronix,
Johnny Osbourne,
Deepchord,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Brick,
Bill Wells,
The Doobie Brothers,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Tom Boy,
Toni Rubio,
Pet Shop Boys,
Gerry Rafferty,
Eden Ahbez,
The Pop Group,
The Knickerbockers,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Barry Ungar,
ABC,
The Monks,
Mo-Dettes,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Porter Ricks,
Depeche Mode,
Buzzcocks,
Black Moon,
KRS-One,
Tim Buckley,
Goldenarms,
Lindisfarne,
Pylon,
Rhythm & Sound,
Intrusion,
OOIOO,
Spoonie Gee,
Terrestrial Tones,
Arab on Radar,
June Days,
Idris Muhammad,
Basic Channel,
Shuggie Otis,
Rod Modell,
Boz Scaggs,
Jawbox,
Leonard Cohen,
Little Man,
LL Cool J,
Traffic Nightmare,
Delon & Dalcan,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade, Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade, Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade, Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade.
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.