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 Austria and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia 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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 organ 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Public Image Ltd.. All the underground hits.
All Hasil Adkins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tubeway Army record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Throbbing Gristle record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Vogues,
DNA,
Dawn Penn,
Pussy Galore,
The United States of America,
Gang Starr,
Cameo,
Con Funk Shun,
Marc Almond,
Roger Hodgson,
Roxette,
Yazoo,
The Knickerbockers,
Unwound,
The Mummies,
Nirvana,
The Seeds,
Toni Rubio,
The Fire Engines,
the Slits,
Gang of Four,
The Last Poets,
Harry Pussy,
Kenny Larkin,
Supertramp,
E-Dancer,
Yellowson,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Marshall Jefferson,
Make Up,
The Victims,
Stockholm Monsters,
Pet Shop Boys,
Inner City,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Dead C,
The Alarm Clocks,
Dave Gahan,
Cybotron,
Fort Wilson Riot,
June Days,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Crooked Eye,
Janne Schatter,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Man Eating Sloth,
Vainqueur,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Television Personalities,
Lebanon Hanover,
Ice-T,
Yaz,
Spandau Ballet,
Qualms,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Susan Cadogan,
John Coltrane, John Coltrane, John Coltrane, John Coltrane.
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.