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 Bhutan and from Bremen.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Flesh Eaters to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Royal Family And The Poor. All the underground hits.
All Model 500 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kool Moe Dee record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 organ and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Simply Red,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Excepter,
Cecil Taylor,
Subhumans,
The Alarm Clocks,
Yaz,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Birthday Party,
Marc Almond,
The Gladiators,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Soft Machine,
The Gun Club,
Moebius,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Roxy Music,
Hot Snakes,
Panda Bear,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Standells,
Robert Wyatt,
Procol Harum,
Magma,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Donald Byrd,
The Flesh Eaters,
Fad Gadget,
Roy Ayers,
Jerry's Kids,
Marine Girls,
Saccharine Trust,
Black Sheep,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
Sister Nancy,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Dorothy Ashby,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Rufus Thomas,
Robert Hood,
Lalann,
The Selecter,
Kas Product,
Japan,
Neil Young,
Harmonia,
Jeru the Damaja,
Joe Finger,
The Sound,
Minny Pops,
X-Ray Spex,
The Durutti Column,
Letta Mbulu,
Accadde A,
Youth Brigade,
Radio Birdman,
Scott Walker,
Das Ding,
Kaleidoscope,
The Golliwogs,
Reagan Youth, Reagan Youth, Reagan Youth, Reagan Youth.
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.