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 Croatia and from Toronto.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Section 25 to the rap kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Wasted Youth. All the underground hits.
All Fort Wilson Riot tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Byron Stingily 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Matthew Bourne 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?
Intrusion,
The Stooges,
The Doobie Brothers,
Morten Harket,
Lindisfarne,
Graham Central Station,
The Walker Brothers,
Alice Coltrane,
Steve Hackett,
Malaria!,
The Cramps,
The Kinks,
Cymande,
The Flesh Eaters,
Simply Red,
Rod Modell,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Fall,
Unwound,
Popol Vuh,
The Birthday Party,
Archie Shepp,
Funkadelic,
Moby Grape,
Sight & Sound,
Cal Tjader,
John Coltrane,
New Order,
Cecil Taylor,
Laurel Aitken,
Liliput,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Fatback Band,
X-101,
The Fortunes,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
U.S. Maple,
Saccharine Trust,
Pet Shop Boys,
Pantaleimon,
Alison Limerick,
New Age Steppers,
Blake Baxter,
Sixth Finger,
F. McDonald,
The Index,
the Association,
Porter Ricks,
Rapeman,
Massinfluence,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Tropical Tobacco,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Cabaret Voltaire,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Roxy Music,
Bobby Byrd,
This Heat,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Henry Cow,
The Evens, The Evens, The Evens, The Evens.
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.