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 Namibia and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Gian Franco Pienzio 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 The Walker Brothers. All the underground hits.
All Robert Wyatt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Laurel Aitken record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 organ and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a OOIOO record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sparks,
The Raincoats,
Janne Schatter,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Divine Comedy,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Metal Thangz,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Man Parrish,
Aural Exciters,
Kool Moe Dee,
Althea and Donna,
The Moleskins,
F. McDonald,
Cheater Slicks,
Fluxion,
Black Pus,
Don Cherry,
Negative Approach,
Royal Trux,
The Durutti Column,
X-Ray Spex,
Kaleidoscope,
Godley & Creme,
Liliput,
Skriet,
Au Pairs,
Bobby Sherman,
Fad Gadget,
Flipper,
Whodini,
Nils Olav,
Fugazi,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Neon Judgement,
Boredoms,
David Bowie,
The Flesh Eaters,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Tremeloes,
Lyres,
Section 25,
H. Thieme,
Bizarre Inc.,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Fela Kuti,
Audionom,
The Golliwogs,
Banda Bassotti,
Lungfish,
Wolf Eyes,
Average White Band,
The Star Department,
Sun Ra,
Icehouse,
8 Eyed Spy,
Subhumans,
Barry Ungar,
The Saints,
La Düsseldorf,
The Searchers, The Searchers, The Searchers, The Searchers.
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.