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 Tehran.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 disco 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 Jesper Dahlback. All the underground hits.
All Easy Going tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Last Poets record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 rhodes and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crime,
La Düsseldorf,
Lou Reed,
Peter and Kerry,
The Cramps,
Chris & Cosey,
Porter Ricks,
Letta Mbulu,
Marshall Jefferson,
Main Source,
The Gun Club,
Bronski Beat,
The Gladiators,
The Moody Blues,
The Alarm Clocks,
Deakin,
Junior Murvin,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Ohio Players,
Davy DMX,
Robert Wyatt,
Shoche,
Ultravox,
The Human League,
The Cosmic Jokers,
UT,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
cv313,
Angry Samoans,
Danielle Patucci,
Rapeman,
Youth Brigade,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Misunderstood,
Sight & Sound,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Dave Gahan,
Althea and Donna,
The Golliwogs,
Avey Tare,
Saccharine Trust,
Technova,
the Swans,
New Order,
One Last Wish,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Remains,
Hoover,
F. McDonald,
Radiohead,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Flesh Eaters,
Royal Trux,
Carl Craig,
Suicide,
CMW,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Last Poets,
Janne Schatter,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Clear Light,
Mars,
Guru Guru, Guru Guru, Guru Guru, Guru Guru.
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.