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 South Africa and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 The United States of America to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Sam Rivers. All the underground hits.
All Kenny Larkin tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marine Girls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 rhodes and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Whodini record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Black Dice,
David Axelrod,
Accadde A,
Judy Mowatt,
Alice Coltrane,
Neil Young,
Franke,
Surgeon,
Wasted Youth,
The Vogues,
Brothers Johnson,
The Wake,
Crash Course in Science,
Pet Shop Boys,
Robert Hood,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Massinfluence,
Joyce Sims,
Grauzone,
Eddi Front,
Brand Nubian,
Bill Wells,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Martian,
the Slits,
Tim Buckley,
Nico,
Rosa Yemen,
Bob Dylan,
Flamin' Groovies,
Dark Day,
Glenn Branca,
Sarah Menescal,
Pantytec,
Jerry's Kids,
Alison Limerick,
a-ha,
Brick,
The Victims,
Harmonia,
Lou Reed,
John Coltrane,
The Shadows of Knight,
Ludus,
The Associates,
Newcleus,
Magazine,
Joensuu 1685,
MDC,
Altered Images,
Sugar Minott,
Harry Pussy,
Warsaw,
Boz Scaggs,
DJ Style,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Flash Fearless,
The Gladiators,
Model 500,
Juan Atkins,
Scott Walker,
Donny Hathaway, Donny Hathaway, Donny Hathaway, Donny Hathaway.
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.