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 Afghanistan and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in London.
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 1967 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Matthew Bourne to the grunge 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 Henry Cow. All the underground hits.
All Flipper tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gabor Szabo 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James White and The Blacks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Iggy Pop,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Rekid,
Bad Manners,
The Names,
Eric B and Rakim,
X-102,
Radiohead,
Infiniti,
the Fania All-Stars,
Deadbeat,
Ludus,
Supertramp,
Gang Green,
ABBA,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Golliwogs,
Black Flag,
Lebanon Hanover,
Mark Hollis,
Ultravox,
Johnny Clarke,
Piero Umiliani,
The Saints,
Spoonie Gee,
Henry Cow,
The Trojans,
The Dirtbombs,
Lucky Dragons,
Main Source,
Bobby Byrd,
Bob Dylan,
Jandek,
Buzzcocks,
Pierre Henry,
X-Ray Spex,
Suicide,
Porter Ricks,
Yazoo,
Eddi Front,
Unrelated Segments,
The Alarm Clocks,
Talk Talk,
One Last Wish,
Young Marble Giants,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Quando Quango,
The Gladiators,
Mr. Review,
Sun City Girls,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
The Doobie Brothers,
Ossler,
June Days,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Ohio Players,
Icehouse,
Aaron Thompson,
The Busters,
Underground Resistance,
Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B.
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.