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 Turkey and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and London.
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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Sparks to the grime 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy. All the underground hits.
All Ossler tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Monks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Drexciya record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultravox,
Mr. Review,
T. Rex,
Underground Resistance,
The Last Poets,
Liliput,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Max Romeo,
Angry Samoans,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
CMW,
Patti Smith,
Depeche Mode,
Bronski Beat,
Jerry Gold Smith,
B.T. Express,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Lyres,
Todd Rundgren,
Kayak,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Ultimate Spinach,
Boz Scaggs,
the Swans,
Susan Cadogan,
Vladislav Delay,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Clear Light,
Audionom,
Pet Shop Boys,
Dennis Brown,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Adolescents,
Black Flag,
Intrusion,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Heaven 17,
Surgeon,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Smog,
A Certain Ratio,
The Music Machine,
X-102,
Subhumans,
Hot Snakes,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
the Sonics,
James White and The Blacks,
Gang of Four,
The Grass Roots,
Zero Boys,
The Blues Magoos,
Crispian St. Peters,
Brand Nubian,
The Residents,
The Smoke,
Little Man,
Scientists, Scientists, Scientists, Scientists.
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.