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 Barbados and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in 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 Lyon and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 mellotron 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 Electric Prunes to the dance 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 New Christs. All the underground hits.
All Soulsonic Force tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Human League 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Byrd record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Von Mondo,
Dead Boys,
Funkadelic,
Suicide,
Arthur Verocai,
Scrapy,
A Certain Ratio,
Rod Modell,
Pulsallama,
T.S.O.L.,
DJ Style,
Massinfluence,
Toni Rubio,
Blossom Toes,
Sister Nancy,
Suburban Knight,
Marc Almond,
Graham Central Station,
Agent Orange,
Deadbeat,
Crooked Eye,
The Vogues,
The Selecter,
June of 44,
Dawn Penn,
New Age Steppers,
Eurythmics,
Morten Harket,
The Misunderstood,
Icehouse,
Hashim,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Basic Channel,
Electric Prunes,
Roxy Music,
Make Up,
Brass Construction,
John Lydon,
Livin' Joy,
Sällskapet,
Cymande,
the Association,
Marshall Jefferson,
New Order,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Scratch Acid,
Bauhaus,
Max Romeo,
Rosa Yemen,
Andrew Hill,
The Modern Lovers,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Sonic Youth,
Monolake,
Marmalade,
The Birthday Party,
Archie Shepp,
Porter Ricks,
Das Ding,
Ponytail,
Goldenarms, Goldenarms, Goldenarms, Goldenarms.
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.