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 Papua New Guinea and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Young Marble Giants to the grime 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 The Skatalites. All the underground hits.
All Jesper Dahlback tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alice Coltrane record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 a harpsichord and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Tremeloes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Byrd,
The Detroit Cobras,
David Bowie,
Pylon,
Maurizio,
Ultimate Spinach,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Bizarre Inc.,
Matthew Halsall,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Wings,
Chrome,
Dual Sessions,
Bronski Beat,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Flipper,
Tom Boy,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
MDC,
Tropical Tobacco,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Index,
Marcia Griffiths,
Crispy Ambulance,
Amon Düül II,
Radiopuhelimet,
Niagra,
Quadrant,
Wally Richardson,
Drive Like Jehu,
Pantaleimon,
Interpol,
Bad Manners,
Idris Muhammad,
World's Most,
The Velvet Underground,
The Remains,
Saccharine Trust,
the Human League,
Ronnie Foster,
One Last Wish,
Metal Thangz,
Donald Byrd,
Absolute Body Control,
a-ha,
Bobby Womack,
Cheater Slicks,
Deadbeat,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Rites of Spring,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Whodini,
Au Pairs,
48th St. Collective,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Yellowson,
Camouflage, Camouflage, Camouflage, Camouflage.
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.