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 Mauritania and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 synthesizer 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 Wally Richardson to the dance kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Lou Reed & Metallica. All the underground hits.
All Banda Bassotti tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Main Source record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 spring reverb and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fort Wilson Riot record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scientists,
The Sound,
the Bar-Kays,
Mission of Burma,
Soul II Soul,
Prince Buster,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Martian,
Sam Rivers,
The Blackbyrds,
Model 500,
Barbara Tucker,
Albert Ayler,
Yellowson,
Laurel Aitken,
Lakeside,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Mary Jane Girls,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Happenings,
Unrelated Segments,
Howard Jones,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Ten City,
Susan Cadogan,
Cheater Slicks,
Ornette Coleman,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Barracudas,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Lungfish,
John Lydon,
Arthur Verocai,
Vladislav Delay,
Anthony Braxton,
Public Enemy,
Pole,
Crime,
Oneida,
The Electric Prunes,
Ossler,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Cowsills,
Jacob Miller,
CMW,
Tears for Fears,
Au Pairs,
Ultra Naté,
The Wake,
Robert Görl,
Youth Brigade,
The Buckinghams,
Bizarre Inc.,
Country Teasers,
The Remains,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Fela Kuti,
Franke,
Black Bananas,
Wally Richardson,
Ultravox,
Make Up, Make Up, Make Up, Make Up.
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.