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 Ghana and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Sao Paulo.
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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the 808 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 Gary Puckett & The Union Gap to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Soft Cell. All the underground hits.
All Pussy Galore tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every De La Soul & Jungle Brothers 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Detroit Cobras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T.S.O.L.,
Agent Orange,
Malaria!,
Essential Logic,
Rufus Thomas,
The Move,
R.M.O.,
Joey Negro,
Joy Division,
Bang On A Can,
The Fugs,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Masters at Work,
Ten City,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
KRS-One,
Tres Demented,
Jacques Brel,
Stockholm Monsters,
Todd Terry,
Mad Mike,
The Durutti Column,
T. Rex,
Pierre Henry,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Blackbyrds,
Lindisfarne,
F. McDonald,
Roxette,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Harpers Bizarre,
Vainqueur,
Guru Guru,
John Coltrane,
The Flesh Eaters,
Sixth Finger,
Wings,
Gabor Szabo,
Harmonia,
Stiv Bators,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Symarip,
Skarface,
Sun City Girls,
Accadde A,
Los Fastidios,
The Dirtbombs,
Soul Sonic Force,
a-ha,
Japan,
Brick,
The Busters,
Agitation Free,
The Selecter,
DNA,
MC5,
Black Moon,
Metal Thangz,
Fela Kuti,
Jesper Dahlback,
Black Pus,
Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish.
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.