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 Comoros and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Country Teasers to the disco 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 Misunderstood. All the underground hits.
All La Düsseldorf tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Outsiders record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 clarinet and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sam Rivers,
John Holt,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Barrington Levy,
Chris & Cosey,
Chris Corsano,
Jerry's Kids,
Hardrive,
Icehouse,
David McCallum,
The Selecter,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Das Ding,
Lungfish,
the Human League,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Bill Wells,
The Mummies,
Swans,
Camberwell Now,
Delon & Dalcan,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Five Americans,
Buzzcocks,
Godley & Creme,
The Cramps,
Malaria!,
48th St. Collective,
Wally Richardson,
Popol Vuh,
The Searchers,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Lyres,
Moss Icon,
The J.B.'s,
Sight & Sound,
Alton Ellis,
Saccharine Trust,
Slick Rick,
Roy Ayers,
Warren Ellis,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Blake Baxter,
Eve St. Jones,
Curtis Mayfield,
Harry Pussy,
Colin Newman,
Ohio Players,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Scrapy,
Black Moon,
Derrick Morgan,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Dave Gahan,
Kaleidoscope,
Piero Umiliani,
The Black Dice,
The Alarm Clocks,
Letta Mbulu,
Neil Young,
Crispian St. Peters, Crispian St. Peters, Crispian St. Peters, Crispian St. Peters.
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.