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 Angola and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Lille.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 H. Thieme to the rock 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 Crispian St. Peters. All the underground hits.
All Althea and Donna tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Robert Wyatt record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Walker Brothers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
48th St. Collective,
Babytalk,
Intrusion,
Suicide,
Inner City,
The Birthday Party,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Mandrill,
R.M.O.,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Blackbyrds,
Grey Daturas,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Rakim,
Maleditus Sound,
Moss Icon,
Matthew Halsall,
Pere Ubu,
Gerry Rafferty,
Sam Rivers,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Q65,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Fortunes,
Tubeway Army,
The American Breed,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
John Lydon,
Monolake,
Dawn Penn,
Scrapy,
Glenn Branca,
F. McDonald,
Funky Four + One,
Michelle Simonal,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Moby Grape,
Eddi Front,
New Age Steppers,
Duran Duran,
Donny Hathaway,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Ultravox,
Television Personalities,
The Pop Group,
Tropical Tobacco,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Nik Kershaw,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Black Sheep,
Leonard Cohen,
Can,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Alice Coltrane,
Godley & Creme,
Alphaville,
Aural Exciters,
Fluxion,
Pharoah Sanders,
Mark Hollis,
The Angels of Light,
Sound Behaviour,
Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond.
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.