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 Belarus and from Shanghai.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Con Funk Shun to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 The Stooges. All the underground hits.
All Soft Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sad Lovers and Giants record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Public Image Ltd. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oneida,
Jeru the Damaja,
Barbara Tucker,
Lalo Schifrin,
Black Pus,
Ossler,
Agent Orange,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Dirtbombs,
Man Parrish,
Howard Jones,
Grey Daturas,
Graham Central Station,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Brick,
The Birthday Party,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Gang Starr,
Schoolly D,
Kas Product,
The Velvet Underground,
Television,
The Beau Brummels,
Niagra,
Suicide,
Easy Going,
Pole,
Bauhaus,
Rapeman,
Eric Dolphy,
Lightning Bolt,
Pulsallama,
The Cure,
Mad Mike,
New Age Steppers,
The Fugs,
Theoretical Girls,
Bill Wells,
Suburban Knight,
The Wake,
Pussy Galore,
Stiv Bators,
Arcadia,
Camberwell Now,
New York Dolls,
The Dave Clark Five,
Goldenarms,
The Sisters of Mercy,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Franke,
World's Most,
Crime,
Boredoms,
Unrelated Segments,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Charles Mingus,
Flamin' Groovies,
Colin Newman,
Sonic Youth,
CMW, CMW, CMW, CMW.
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.