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 Tonga and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Severed Heads to the disco 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 June of 44. All the underground hits.
All Adolescents tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sonny Sharrock 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Smoke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
EPMD,
Soft Cell,
Tropical Tobacco,
Yazoo,
The Martian,
The Alarm Clocks,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Bronski Beat,
K-Klass,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Blossom Toes,
Suburban Knight,
Black Sheep,
The Evens,
Crispian St. Peters,
Young Marble Giants,
Banda Bassotti,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Saints,
The Blues Magoos,
Animal Collective,
Fear,
Joe Smooth,
The Knickerbockers,
Newcleus,
Rites of Spring,
These Immortal Souls,
Suicide,
The Smoke,
ABBA,
Aural Exciters,
Franke,
Eric Dolphy,
Theoretical Girls,
Al Stewart,
The Monks,
The Doobie Brothers,
Gil Scott Heron,
Von Mondo,
Gang Green,
The Victims,
Reagan Youth,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Lee Hazlewood,
Quantec,
Shuggie Otis,
Johnny Osbourne,
Don Cherry,
D'Angelo,
Lindisfarne,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
David Axelrod,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Maurizio,
Nirvana,
Funky Four + One,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
This Heat,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Royal Trux,
a-ha, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha.
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.