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 Guinea and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 sitar 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 Blake Baxter to the rap 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 Sparks. All the underground hits.
All Babytalk tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roger Hodgson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Gladiators,
The Red Krayola,
The Remains,
Cybotron,
Drexciya,
The Happenings,
Kool Moe Dee,
Fatback Band,
Joensuu 1685,
cv313,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Sound Behaviour,
Livin' Joy,
Arab on Radar,
Albert Ayler,
Kayak,
Sam Rivers,
Q65,
Niagra,
The Leaves,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
10cc,
Reuben Wilson,
The Pretty Things,
New York Dolls,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Gerry Rafferty,
Boredoms,
Pierre Henry,
Minnie Riperton,
The Selecter,
Amon Düül II,
Blancmange,
Gil Scott Heron,
Bluetip,
John Coltrane,
Rekid,
The New Christs,
Althea and Donna,
Outsiders,
Zapp,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Moebius,
Tropical Tobacco,
Marc Almond,
Crispy Ambulance,
Curtis Mayfield,
Black Bananas,
Quadrant,
Porter Ricks,
Desert Stars,
The Flesh Eaters,
Nik Kershaw,
Visage,
La Düsseldorf,
The Kinks,
The Fire Engines,
Drive Like Jehu,
Cluster,
The Searchers,
Pussy Galore,
Skriet, Skriet, Skriet, Skriet.
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.