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 Djibouti and from Toronto.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the theremin 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 Bobby Hutcherson to the jazz 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 Fort Wilson Riot. All the underground hits.
All the Slits tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Davy DMX record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 an oboe and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fat Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Heaven 17,
Shoche,
Minutemen,
Animal Collective,
Harry Pussy,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Spandau Ballet,
Stereo Dub,
Joyce Sims,
Subhumans,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Arthur Verocai,
Warsaw,
Mars,
Mark Hollis,
Goldenarms,
The Saints,
Sandy B,
Nico,
Tubeway Army,
Pylon,
FM Einheit,
The Monks,
The Index,
In Retrospect,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Count Five,
Bluetip,
Yaz,
Kenny Larkin,
Jandek,
The J.B.'s,
Bobby Womack,
Donny Hathaway,
The Shadows of Knight,
Maleditus Sound,
Das Ding,
Kayak,
Pere Ubu,
Lou Reed,
Vainqueur,
Ultimate Spinach,
Dead Boys,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Tears for Fears,
Royal Trux,
The Flesh Eaters,
Byron Stingily,
The Leaves,
Siglo XX,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Junior Murvin,
The Raincoats,
The Blues Magoos,
Roy Ayers,
8 Eyed Spy,
Gregory Isaacs,
Johnny Osbourne,
Easy Going,
Black Sheep, Black Sheep, Black Sheep, Black Sheep.
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.