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 Samoa and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Patti Smith to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Moss Icon. All the underground hits.
All Tears for Fears tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Happenings 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Surgeon,
Niagra,
Zero Boys,
The Mummies,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
The Mojo Men,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Grass Roots,
CMW,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Fad Gadget,
Ituana,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Nas,
Arthur Verocai,
The Real Kids,
Bootsy Collins,
Soft Cell,
X-102,
Faust,
Jacques Brel,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Yazoo,
Rites of Spring,
Morten Harket,
the Normal,
Henry Cow,
Simply Red,
Bobby Byrd,
June Days,
Lakeside,
Echospace,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Thompson Twins,
Quadrant,
Bob Dylan,
Flamin' Groovies,
Scrapy,
Girls At Our Best!,
Talk Talk,
ABBA,
Tears for Fears,
the Bar-Kays,
Crime,
Unrelated Segments,
H. Thieme,
Lyres,
Gabor Szabo,
The Blues Magoos,
Flipper,
Pantaleimon,
Vladislav Delay,
The Barracudas,
Bizarre Inc.,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Magma,
Kerrie Biddell,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.
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.