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 Peru and from Shanghai.
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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Dirtbombs to the grunge 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 Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson. All the underground hits.
All Ice-T tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Moleskins record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 clarinet and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Bananas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Moebius,
Accadde A,
Drexciya,
Malaria!,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Black Sheep,
Chris & Cosey,
X-102,
Das Ding,
Jimmy McGriff,
Kayak,
Radiopuhelimet,
John Coltrane,
Jeff Lynne,
Sonny Sharrock,
Cymande,
Eurythmics,
Marmalade,
Cal Tjader,
Nirvana,
Aaron Thompson,
Donald Byrd,
Nils Olav,
Morten Harket,
Television Personalities,
Steve Hackett,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Cure,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Black Bananas,
Roy Ayers,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Joe Smooth,
Adolescents,
The Busters,
The Cowsills,
The Human League,
Little Man,
The Walker Brothers,
Slick Rick,
Rhythm & Sound,
Barclay James Harvest,
Technova,
The Red Krayola,
Archie Shepp,
X-101,
Qualms,
Pulsallama,
Marc Almond,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Soul Sonic Force,
Quantec,
48th St. Collective,
Andrew Hill,
Throbbing Gristle,
John Cale,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Quadrant,
Charles Mingus,
John Lydon,
New Age Steppers,
Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish.
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.