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 Angola and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1960 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 marimba 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 Little Man to the punk 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 Andrew Hill. All the underground hits.
All Fort Wilson Riot tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Country Teasers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Saints record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin 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?
Con Funk Shun,
Max Romeo,
These Immortal Souls,
Oblivians,
Yellowson,
Hoover,
Lebanon Hanover,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Velvet Underground,
Al Stewart,
Arthur Verocai,
Boredoms,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Residents,
Bob Dylan,
Aaron Thompson,
Robert Görl,
The Cramps,
Lou Reed,
Banda Bassotti,
The Fugs,
The Slits,
Japan,
Dawn Penn,
The Monks,
Outsiders,
Loose Ends,
Whodini,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
the Bar-Kays,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
X-Ray Spex,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Moody Blues,
In Retrospect,
The Grass Roots,
Aural Exciters,
New Order,
Easy Going,
Joyce Sims,
June of 44,
Sam Rivers,
Delta 5,
Warsaw,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Jawbox,
U.S. Maple,
Suicide,
Sun City Girls,
Gong,
Avey Tare,
Black Pus,
Lalann,
The Kinks,
The Index,
Suburban Knight,
Radiopuhelimet,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Freddie Wadling,
K-Klass,
Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar.
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.