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 Armenia and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and New York.
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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 James White and The Blacks to the grunge 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 Jerry's Kids. All the underground hits.
All Malaria! tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sugar Minott record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 rhodes and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terror Squad Feat. Camron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobbi Humphrey,
Babytalk,
Lungfish,
Kerri Chandler,
Slick Rick,
Cybotron,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Flesh Eaters,
Tres Demented,
Average White Band,
Susan Cadogan,
Henry Cow,
Hoover,
Second Layer,
Bill Near,
Talk Talk,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Lalann,
Depeche Mode,
The Buckinghams,
Nico,
Radio Birdman,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
F. McDonald,
Magma,
Nick Fraelich,
Fugazi,
Eric Dolphy,
Sonny Sharrock,
Pagans,
Duran Duran,
The Residents,
The Beau Brummels,
Y Pants,
Blossom Toes,
Aswad,
Mandrill,
Goldenarms,
The Stooges,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Blues Magoos,
Joe Smooth,
The Dead C,
The Selecter,
Rakim,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Wally Richardson,
X-101,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Ultra Naté,
Eden Ahbez,
Joe Finger,
Gichy Dan,
The Smoke,
Minutemen,
The Litter, The Litter, The Litter, The Litter.
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.