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 Venezuela and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Mojo Men to the funk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Wings. All the underground hits.
All Second Layer tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Simply Red record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Yaz,
DNA,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Smoke,
Joyce Sims,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
8 Eyed Spy,
Derrick May,
Tommy Roe,
Los Fastidios,
Vladislav Delay,
Technova,
Silicon Teens,
Sällskapet,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Scientists,
Nirvana,
Danielle Patucci,
Dave Gahan,
John Cale,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Moleskins,
Surgeon,
The Gories,
Negative Approach,
The Saints,
John Foxx,
The Slits,
Yellowson,
Byron Stingily,
Young Marble Giants,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Grauzone,
Sight & Sound,
Eddi Front,
Popol Vuh,
The Fall,
Moebius,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Tres Demented,
Wire,
Faust,
Kerri Chandler,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Quantec,
James White and The Blacks,
Hardrive,
Symarip,
Ultravox,
Mandrill,
Franke,
E-Dancer,
X-Ray Spex,
U.S. Maple,
The Walker Brothers,
The Fugs,
Neu!,
Wally Richardson,
The Dirtbombs,
The Doors,
Pagans,
The Cowsills,
Oneida, Oneida, Oneida, Oneida.
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.