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 Cameroon and from Manila.
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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 DNA to the funk 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 Malaria!. All the underground hits.
All Los Fastidios tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marshall Jefferson 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gabor Szabo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mr. Review,
Swans,
Grey Daturas,
The Mummies,
Das Ding,
Intrusion,
Dark Day,
Hoover,
Kenny Larkin,
Deepchord,
Pylon,
The Neon Judgement,
The Dead C,
Drive Like Jehu,
Todd Rundgren,
the Soft Cell,
Pantytec,
Ultra Naté,
Big Daddy Kane,
Cameo,
Alphaville,
the Fania All-Stars,
Chrome,
The Remains,
The Modern Lovers,
Bootsy Collins,
Index,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Glenn Branca,
The Index,
Talk Talk,
Erykah Badu,
ABBA,
Reuben Wilson,
The Selecter,
Wolf Eyes,
Soul II Soul,
Blossom Toes,
Wire,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
T. Rex,
Maleditus Sound,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Parry Music,
The Fall,
Steve Hackett,
The Happenings,
Electric Prunes,
Motorama,
Mo-Dettes,
Alton Ellis,
Susan Cadogan,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Little Man,
Kerri Chandler,
Sight & Sound,
DNA,
Mandrill,
Jeff Lynne,
Gabor Szabo,
The Invisible,
Khruangbin,
Bush Tetras, Bush Tetras, Bush Tetras, Bush Tetras.
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.