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 Saudi Arabia and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage 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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 New Order to the crunk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks. All the underground hits.
All MDC tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every John Cale record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 güiro and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Wake record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
KRS-One,
Boz Scaggs,
The Selecter,
Electric Prunes,
Monks,
Mark Hollis,
Letta Mbulu,
Laurel Aitken,
Leonard Cohen,
The Flesh Eaters,
Gastr Del Sol,
Bobby Womack,
Accadde A,
Subhumans,
June of 44,
The Beau Brummels,
Mr. Review,
Tubeway Army,
Pylon,
Tears for Fears,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Slackers,
Minutemen,
T. Rex,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
B.T. Express,
Girls At Our Best!,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Charles Mingus,
Kerri Chandler,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Ronnie Foster,
Marcia Griffiths,
Fugazi,
Popol Vuh,
Loose Ends,
Ralphi Rosario,
Sam Rivers,
Anakelly,
Gong,
Marine Girls,
L. Decosne,
Jeff Mills,
Organ,
June Days,
Index,
Soul Sonic Force,
10cc,
Minnie Riperton,
The Stooges,
Intrusion,
Matthew Halsall,
Ken Boothe,
Rakim,
Barclay James Harvest,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Prince Buster,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Spandau Ballet,
One Last Wish,
Lucky Dragons, Lucky Dragons, Lucky Dragons, Lucky Dragons.
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.