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 Mozambique and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 linndrum 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 Scratch Acid to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 David Bowie. All the underground hits.
All Popol Vuh tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scott Walker + Sunn O))) 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Banda Bassotti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mantronix,
Leonard Cohen,
The Count Five,
June of 44,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Neil Young,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Misunderstood,
Lyres,
Porter Ricks,
Kaleidoscope,
World's Most,
The Neon Judgement,
Scientists,
Newcleus,
Rufus Thomas,
the Sonics,
Nas,
Magma,
Moebius,
Prince Buster,
The Searchers,
Panda Bear,
the Normal,
The Cowsills,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Shuggie Otis,
Robert Görl,
John Lydon,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Mission of Burma,
Intrusion,
Excepter,
The Moleskins,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Eyeless In Gaza,
David Axelrod,
Infiniti,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Toasters,
The Real Kids,
Drive Like Jehu,
Pylon,
Junior Murvin,
The Black Dice,
The Gladiators,
The Monks,
Dead Boys,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Eric Copeland,
Babytalk,
Erasure,
Youth Brigade,
Wings,
a-ha,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Sound,
Unwound,
Aswad,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Henry Cow,
Bizarre Inc.,
Nico, Nico, Nico, Nico.
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.