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 Slovenia and from Spokane.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Gun Club to the jazz 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 Cheater Slicks. All the underground hits.
All Pharoah Sanders tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jacques Brel record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masters at Work record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Birthday Party,
Amon Düül,
Crime,
Wally Richardson,
Eyeless In Gaza,
World's Most,
Goldenarms,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
T. Rex,
Toni Rubio,
Arthur Verocai,
Ronnie Foster,
Eli Mardock,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Josef K,
Cameo,
Joe Finger,
Eurythmics,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
X-Ray Spex,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Pantaleimon,
Colin Newman,
Faust,
The Residents,
Lou Reed,
Radio Birdman,
Eddi Front,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Lou Christie,
the Bar-Kays,
The J.B.'s,
The Monks,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Schoolly D,
James White and The Blacks,
Skarface,
Pet Shop Boys,
R.M.O.,
Jandek,
Eric Dolphy,
Leonard Cohen,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Spandau Ballet,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Fugs,
Bad Manners,
Agent Orange,
The Fortunes,
Ultra Naté,
The Angels of Light,
Technova,
The Tremeloes,
Darondo,
The Litter,
Jacques Brel,
Eric Copeland,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Dawn Penn,
Easy Going,
Can,
Joe Smooth,
Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu.
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.