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 Zimbabwe and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Girls At Our Best! 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 a-ha. All the underground hits.
All Boogie Down Productions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 guitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Magazine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bob Dylan,
Cybotron,
Royal Trux,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Index,
Bauhaus,
Juan Atkins,
Sixth Finger,
Rites of Spring,
Desert Stars,
Eric Copeland,
Electric Prunes,
Talk Talk,
Kaleidoscope,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Mary Jane Girls,
Silicon Teens,
Laurel Aitken,
The Last Poets,
Al Stewart,
Arab on Radar,
kango's stein massive,
Outsiders,
Bronski Beat,
Hasil Adkins,
Roxy Music,
The Shadows of Knight,
Flamin' Groovies,
Big Daddy Kane,
Y Pants,
Oneida,
Suicide,
The Motions,
Index,
Fugazi,
The Moleskins,
Henry Cow,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Panda Bear,
Symarip,
Excepter,
Jerry's Kids,
The Blues Magoos,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Robert Görl,
Fatback Band,
Rekid,
Motorama,
Davy DMX,
Lebanon Hanover,
Donald Byrd,
The Pop Group,
The American Breed,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
One Last Wish,
The Evens,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Scott Walker, Scott Walker, Scott Walker, Scott Walker.
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.