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 Mauritius and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Chrome to the funk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Gang Starr. All the underground hits.
All N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dave Gahan 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Glambeats Corp. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fifty Foot Hose,
Underground Resistance,
Soul Sonic Force,
Moebius,
Desert Stars,
Pantaleimon,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
David McCallum,
Arthur Verocai,
Liliput,
Yaz,
Quando Quango,
Altered Images,
Animal Collective,
R.M.O.,
The Grass Roots,
Khruangbin,
The Happenings,
EPMD,
Marvin Gaye,
Aloha Tigers,
Neu!,
Chrome,
Jacob Miller,
Ultravox,
Mad Mike,
H. Thieme,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
MC5,
Traffic Nightmare,
June of 44,
LL Cool J,
Drexciya,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Soft Machine,
The Mummies,
ABBA,
Jeff Lynne,
Faraquet,
AZ,
Jimmy McGriff,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Thompson Twins,
Joey Negro,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Pantytec,
Mark Hollis,
Barry Ungar,
Avey Tare,
Barbara Tucker,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Blackbyrds,
Todd Terry,
Kaleidoscope,
The Monks,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Offenders,
Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt.
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.