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 Fiji and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 Ajijia Myrayebe to the rap 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 Man Eating Sloth. All the underground hits.
All Eli Mardock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Quando Quango 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 spring reverb and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Make Up record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Soul II Soul,
Vainqueur,
Letta Mbulu,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Gil Scott Heron,
Johnny Clarke,
48th St. Collective,
Second Layer,
Fad Gadget,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Barclay James Harvest,
Buzzcocks,
Stetsasonic,
MDC,
Wire,
Deepchord,
Sixth Finger,
AZ,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Todd Terry,
Godley & Creme,
The Star Department,
The Vogues,
Khruangbin,
The Birthday Party,
Hot Snakes,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Public Image Ltd.,
the Sonics,
June Days,
Cluster,
Quantec,
Yellowson,
Wally Richardson,
Procol Harum,
Brick,
The Gun Club,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Lungfish,
Arcadia,
Bad Manners,
Dark Day,
Average White Band,
Little Man,
Zero Boys,
Bobby Womack,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Crash Course in Science,
Tim Buckley,
Harry Pussy,
Mark Hollis,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Mission of Burma,
Radiopuhelimet,
Livin' Joy,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Tremeloes,
Groovy Waters,
Bush Tetras,
Kerri Chandler,
Jeff Lynne,
Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms.
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.