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 Libya and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Cluster to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Selecter. All the underground hits.
All Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Misunderstood record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Minutemen record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Absolute Body Control,
F. McDonald,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Gil Scott Heron,
Agitation Free,
Silicon Teens,
Leonard Cohen,
Lucky Dragons,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Mark Hollis,
Urselle,
Chrome,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Black Moon,
Organ,
X-101,
The Human League,
The Neon Judgement,
Agent Orange,
Masters at Work,
Cluster,
Colin Newman,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Cowsills,
The Pretty Things,
Susan Cadogan,
Barclay James Harvest,
Hardrive,
The Moody Blues,
Half Japanese,
Reagan Youth,
The Invisible,
Mandrill,
Echospace,
Khruangbin,
The Gap Band,
Steve Hackett,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Rotary Connection,
John Foxx,
Barrington Levy,
The Doobie Brothers,
Lakeside,
Crispy Ambulance,
Matthew Halsall,
Kurtis Blow,
Swell Maps,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Trumans Water,
Spandau Ballet,
New Order,
The Black Dice,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Marcia Griffiths,
Stiv Bators,
Monks,
Todd Rundgren,
Eli Mardock,
Angry Samoans,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Mary Jane Girls,
Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti.
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.