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 Burundi and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Terror Squad Feat. Camron to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Kenny Larkin. All the underground hits.
All the Human League tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Slackers 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crash Course in Science 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?
Gang Starr,
Don Cherry,
Bobby Sherman,
Black Pus,
The Skatalites,
Hasil Adkins,
The Pretty Things,
The Sonics,
Masters at Work,
Altered Images,
MDC,
John Lydon,
DJ Style,
Popol Vuh,
Joey Negro,
ABC,
Al Stewart,
The Cramps,
Funkadelic,
Letta Mbulu,
The Evens,
Robert Hood,
JFA,
Eric Dolphy,
Erasure,
Junior Murvin,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Andrew Hill,
Johnny Osbourne,
Animal Collective,
New Order,
Traffic Nightmare,
Radio Birdman,
Rod Modell,
the Germs,
The Busters,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Eli Mardock,
Joy Division,
Funky Four + One,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
48th St. Collective,
The United States of America,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Soul Sonic Force,
D'Angelo,
Avey Tare,
Gil Scott Heron,
Prince Buster,
Saccharine Trust,
10cc,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
F. McDonald,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Second Layer,
Oneida,
Sonic Youth,
Fatback Band, Fatback Band, Fatback Band, Fatback Band.
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.