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 San Marino and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Houston.
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 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 Liaisons Dangereuses to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Suicide. All the underground hits.
All Ajijia Myrayebe tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Altered Images record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a De La Soul & Jungle Brothers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Urselle,
Nico,
Cameo,
Bronski Beat,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Warsaw,
Yazoo,
Kaleidoscope,
Eli Mardock,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Simply Red,
Wally Richardson,
The Shadows of Knight,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Rod Modell,
Black Bananas,
Eyeless In Gaza,
John Cale,
The Star Department,
Monks,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
OOIOO,
Pantytec,
Panda Bear,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Robert Görl,
Mr. Review,
Derrick Morgan,
Masters at Work,
Gang Gang Dance,
Connie Case,
K-Klass,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Crooked Eye,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Seeds,
Joensuu 1685,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Iggy Pop,
a-ha,
Sex Pistols,
Darondo,
Fatback Band,
Bill Wells,
Khruangbin,
The New Christs,
the Bar-Kays,
Nas,
Brick,
Man Parrish,
Terrestrial Tones,
Aaron Thompson,
Smog,
Metal Thangz,
Bauhaus,
Babytalk,
Sixth Finger,
The Smoke,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
E-Dancer,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Raincoats,
The Pretty Things, The Pretty Things, The Pretty Things, The Pretty Things.
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.