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 Djibouti and from Mexico City.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Gabor Szabo to the crunk 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 Zero Boys. All the underground hits.
All Gian Franco Pienzio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Slits record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Juan Atkins record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Blancmange,
Mo-Dettes,
Tears for Fears,
Lalann,
Dorothy Ashby,
Black Pus,
Sam Rivers,
L. Decosne,
Henry Cow,
Maleditus Sound,
Monks,
Soul Sonic Force,
Roxy Music,
The Blues Magoos,
Juan Atkins,
Cluster,
Cymande,
PIL,
The Fugs,
Eve St. Jones,
The Cowsills,
Pet Shop Boys,
Jeff Lynne,
Gang Starr,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Kayak,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Swell Maps,
Stetsasonic,
The Skatalites,
Robert Hood,
UT,
The Angels of Light,
Morten Harket,
The Selecter,
The Barracudas,
Tropical Tobacco,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Spoonie Gee,
Guru Guru,
World's Most,
Max Romeo,
Tommy Roe,
The Five Americans,
La Düsseldorf,
John Lydon,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Stooges,
Bronski Beat,
Nik Kershaw,
Kurtis Blow,
Throbbing Gristle,
MC5,
Jeff Mills,
John Foxx,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Terry Callier,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Infiniti,
Nico,
Gong,
Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare.
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.