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 Costa Rica and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 De La Soul & Jungle Brothers to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Sällskapet. All the underground hits.
All Reuben Wilson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Howard Jones record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Richard Hell and the Voidoids record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lungfish,
A Certain Ratio,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Saints,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Banda Bassotti,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Monolake,
The Raincoats,
Eli Mardock,
The Leaves,
Letta Mbulu,
Sexual Harrassment,
Cybotron,
New Order,
Colin Newman,
Altered Images,
Iggy Pop,
Barry Ungar,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Hoover,
Rakim,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Vainqueur,
Inner City,
Yazoo,
Babytalk,
Audionom,
Gabor Szabo,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Whodini,
David McCallum,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Simply Red,
Chris & Cosey,
Hardrive,
June of 44,
Neil Young,
Gastr Del Sol,
Arthur Verocai,
Kaleidoscope,
Lalo Schifrin,
Unrelated Segments,
Mr. Review,
Juan Atkins,
ABC,
Carl Craig,
Byron Stingily,
Alton Ellis,
Lightning Bolt,
The Tremeloes,
B.T. Express,
Roy Ayers,
The Sound,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Trojans,
Desert Stars,
The Count Five,
Beasts of Bourbon, Beasts of Bourbon, Beasts of Bourbon, Beasts of Bourbon.
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.