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 Korea South and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 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 Banda Bassotti to the funk 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 Swell Maps. All the underground hits.
All E-Dancer tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every T.S.O.L. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a 808 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 spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ash Ra Tempel,
Public Enemy,
Silicon Teens,
Sugar Minott,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Smoke,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Index,
The Victims,
T.S.O.L.,
The Skatalites,
The Knickerbockers,
The Monks,
Sister Nancy,
Robert Hood,
Anthony Braxton,
Tommy Roe,
Hashim,
F. McDonald,
Terrestrial Tones,
Bill Wells,
The Dirtbombs,
Mission of Burma,
Laurel Aitken,
Bill Near,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Tom Boy,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Yaz,
R.M.O.,
Dorothy Ashby,
Scientists,
Black Pus,
Suicide,
Joe Smooth,
The Offenders,
Grauzone,
Scratch Acid,
Agitation Free,
Motorama,
Peter and Kerry,
Derrick May,
John Coltrane,
The Happenings,
The Dead C,
June of 44,
Funkadelic,
the Sonics,
Spandau Ballet,
Max Romeo,
Saccharine Trust,
Ronan,
Pantytec,
Tim Buckley,
Terry Callier,
The Fortunes,
Radio Birdman,
Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown.
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.