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 El Salvador and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Cal Tjader to the dance 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 Mission of Burma. All the underground hits.
All Sunsets and Hearts tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Q and Not U record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Grass Roots record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scan 7,
Alphaville,
Pulsallama,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Blues Magoos,
Yellowson,
Moss Icon,
Monolake,
Wasted Youth,
Make Up,
Excepter,
Index,
The Young Rascals,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Heaven 17,
The Five Americans,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Terrestrial Tones,
Young Marble Giants,
Nils Olav,
Lungfish,
Throbbing Gristle,
Nas,
Joyce Sims,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Fall,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
R.M.O.,
Fat Boys,
Anthony Braxton,
Con Funk Shun,
Moebius,
PIL,
The Moody Blues,
the Swans,
Kool Moe Dee,
Pantaleimon,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Yaz,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Al Stewart,
The Zeros,
The Gun Club,
The Kinks,
Mary Jane Girls,
Ice-T,
Black Moon,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Can,
Cheater Slicks,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Big Daddy Kane,
Janne Schatter,
Deakin,
Wings,
Basic Channel,
Marcia Griffiths,
Pantytec,
The Real Kids,
Aswad,
Frankie Knuckles,
Royal Trux,
Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans.
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.