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 Luxembourg and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Columbus.
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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Knickerbockers to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Rahsaan Roland Kirk. All the underground hits.
All Nik Kershaw tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Almond 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb 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 chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terrestrial Tones,
The Divine Comedy,
Jeff Lynne,
Inner City,
Lower 48,
Faraquet,
The Birthday Party,
Todd Rundgren,
Slick Rick,
Joey Negro,
June of 44,
Archie Shepp,
Gang Starr,
The Dirtbombs,
The Saints,
Tropical Tobacco,
Sam Rivers,
Swans,
Bobby Byrd,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Lungfish,
Silicon Teens,
Byron Stingily,
The Index,
Jacques Brel,
The Martian,
the Bar-Kays,
Sällskapet,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Pylon,
Blake Baxter,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
June Days,
Erykah Badu,
Sandy B,
Circle Jerks,
Warren Ellis,
Ossler,
Magma,
Groovy Waters,
The Durutti Column,
Joe Finger,
Howard Jones,
Rod Modell,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Beau Brummels,
kango's stein massive,
Vladislav Delay,
Hoover,
The Modern Lovers,
The J.B.'s,
Man Eating Sloth,
Minutemen,
Scan 7,
Tears for Fears,
La Düsseldorf,
Slave,
Adolescents,
The Sound, The Sound, The Sound, The Sound.
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.