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 Antigua and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Bologna.
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 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 X-101 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 Public Image Ltd.. All the underground hits.
All The Pretty Things tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Minor Threat record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Siouxsie and the Banshees record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Supertramp,
Quando Quango,
Magazine,
Bauhaus,
Motorama,
Fad Gadget,
Morten Harket,
Jacob Miller,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Divine Comedy,
World's Most,
Jeff Mills,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Underground Resistance,
Subhumans,
Sex Pistols,
Andrew Hill,
Accadde A,
The Evens,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Smoke,
The United States of America,
Cameo,
Infiniti,
The Invisible,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Sonics,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Eurythmics,
The Doors,
Mad Mike,
Camberwell Now,
Funkadelic,
Ludus,
Angry Samoans,
Slave,
Joey Negro,
Outsiders,
Boogie Down Productions,
MC5,
Henry Cow,
Yaz,
Faust,
Urselle,
the Sonics,
Deakin,
Deepchord,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Pierre Henry,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Hoover,
Moss Icon,
Monks,
The Kinks,
Bobby Womack,
Pantytec,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Schoolly D,
The Knickerbockers,
Rites of Spring,
the Slits,
The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs.
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.