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 Romania and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Royal Family And The Poor to the grunge 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 Ponytail. All the underground hits.
All Delon & Dalcan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bang On A Can 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Radiohead record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
Wally Richardson,
The Dirtbombs,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Excepter,
The Names,
Angry Samoans,
Albert Ayler,
Cameo,
Gerry Rafferty,
Terry Callier,
Graham Central Station,
The Cure,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Marmalade,
UT,
Nik Kershaw,
Hot Snakes,
Underground Resistance,
The Wake,
Ultra Naté,
New York Dolls,
Young Marble Giants,
MC5,
Hardrive,
Isaac Hayes,
Blossom Toes,
Shoche,
Japan,
The United States of America,
Scott Walker,
Mad Mike,
The Litter,
Massinfluence,
The Selecter,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Yaz,
Ornette Coleman,
Bobby Byrd,
Tim Buckley,
Suburban Knight,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Leaves,
Franke,
Reagan Youth,
Blake Baxter,
Easy Going,
Barrington Levy,
John Foxx,
Inner City,
Glambeats Corp.,
In Retrospect,
Average White Band,
Half Japanese,
Soul Sonic Force,
Johnny Clarke,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Scion,
Wings,
Amon Düül,
Talk Talk,
The Invisible, The Invisible, The Invisible, The Invisible.
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.