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 Kazakhstan and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 güiro 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 Sex Pistols to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Bronski Beat. All the underground hits.
All Sun Ra Arkestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Can record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marc Almond,
The Grass Roots,
New Order,
Trumans Water,
Bobby Womack,
Reuben Wilson,
Pantaleimon,
Alton Ellis,
Cheater Slicks,
Sugar Minott,
Cecil Taylor,
The Alarm Clocks,
the Fania All-Stars,
Wasted Youth,
Scientists,
Amon Düül,
The Saints,
The Techniques,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Sällskapet,
Amon Düül II,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Angry Samoans,
The Electric Prunes,
The Moody Blues,
Banda Bassotti,
PIL,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Roxy Music,
Alice Coltrane,
Ice-T,
Animal Collective,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Funky Four + One,
Sun Ra,
Warsaw,
Lungfish,
Man Parrish,
This Heat,
Oneida,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Doobie Brothers,
Grey Daturas,
Eric Dolphy,
New York Dolls,
Dawn Penn,
Bluetip,
ABBA,
Juan Atkins,
Todd Rundgren,
Connie Case,
These Immortal Souls,
a-ha,
Henry Cow,
Ponytail,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Dead C,
The Music Machine,
Robert Görl,
Newcleus,
Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat, Deadbeat.
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.