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 Guatemala and from Jakarta.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Mantronix to the techno kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Absolute Body Control. All the underground hits.
All Strawberry Alarm Clock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Durutti Column 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Parrish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Faust,
Deepchord,
Nation of Ulysses,
Sister Nancy,
Desert Stars,
Barrington Levy,
Nick Fraelich,
Tommy Roe,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Bill Wells,
The Toasters,
Dave Gahan,
Wire,
the Germs,
Marcia Griffiths,
Suicide,
The Residents,
The Angels of Light,
Ohio Players,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Blues Magoos,
Rod Modell,
Minutemen,
Robert Wyatt,
Ronan,
Michelle Simonal,
Jacques Brel,
X-Ray Spex,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Invisible,
Inner City,
Niagra,
The Mojo Men,
A Certain Ratio,
Mr. Review,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Cowsills,
Bob Dylan,
Lungfish,
Can,
Gang Green,
Colin Newman,
Adolescents,
Throbbing Gristle,
Roxy Music,
Gichy Dan,
The Red Krayola,
Surgeon,
Roy Ayers,
Sarah Menescal,
Mantronix,
Cameo,
Pantytec,
Excepter,
Dorothy Ashby,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
the Human League,
Bill Near,
Visage,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Black Bananas,
John Lydon,
Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape.
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.