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 Trinidad & Tobago and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Roy Ayers to the crunk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Jacques Brel. All the underground hits.
All The Dave Clark Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Alarm Clocks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Smog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gong,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Durutti Column,
Symarip,
Whodini,
The Wake,
Swans,
The Fugs,
Traffic Nightmare,
the Soft Cell,
Radiopuhelimet,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Music Machine,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Reagan Youth,
The Cure,
The United States of America,
Pole,
Kerri Chandler,
Simply Red,
MDC,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Ornette Coleman,
The Searchers,
The J.B.'s,
Letta Mbulu,
Monolake,
The Dead C,
Deadbeat,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Anakelly,
The Dirtbombs,
Organ,
Joe Finger,
Ten City,
The Remains,
Chrome,
Siglo XX,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Cheater Slicks,
Laurel Aitken,
FM Einheit,
Dorothy Ashby,
Boredoms,
Nico,
Mark Hollis,
Icehouse,
Banda Bassotti,
New Age Steppers,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Saints,
Babytalk,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Fad Gadget,
David Axelrod,
Heaven 17,
Bluetip,
Soft Machine,
48th St. Collective,
Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye.
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.