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 Honduras and from Beijing.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Paris.
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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Germs to the grunge 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 The Dead C. All the underground hits.
All Franke tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wasted Youth record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 sitar and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cecil Taylor record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
Peter & Gordon,
Gerry Rafferty,
Henry Cow,
Janne Schatter,
Symarip,
Bang On A Can,
Flipper,
Negative Approach,
The Black Dice,
Duran Duran,
Stiv Bators,
Dual Sessions,
Young Marble Giants,
Reagan Youth,
The Remains,
Excepter,
Cymande,
The Dirtbombs,
Blake Baxter,
Ultra Naté,
Kurtis Blow,
Fear,
Lower 48,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Fugs,
Sarah Menescal,
The Neon Judgement,
Anakelly,
DJ Style,
Jacques Brel,
Angry Samoans,
Eric Dolphy,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Shadows of Knight,
Suburban Knight,
Inner City,
Tomorrow,
Yusef Lateef,
The Offenders,
One Last Wish,
The Fuzztones,
D'Angelo,
The Moody Blues,
Albert Ayler,
Pole,
Robert Hood,
Icehouse,
Frankie Knuckles,
Skaos,
Groovy Waters,
Graham Central Station,
Crispy Ambulance,
Kerri Chandler,
Nirvana,
Unwound,
Electric Prunes,
Cameo,
The Zeros,
The Gun Club,
KRS-One,
Bobby Byrd,
Visage, Visage, Visage, Visage.
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.