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 Switzerland and from Tehran.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 The Flesh Eaters 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 Ajijia Myrayebe. All the underground hits.
All Peter & Gordon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Certain Ratio 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Kinks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Slackers,
Hoover,
Wally Richardson,
The Seeds,
Nick Fraelich,
Tomorrow,
Hot Snakes,
Grauzone,
Organ,
The Fire Engines,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Cheater Slicks,
Blancmange,
Gang Gang Dance,
Yellowson,
The Dave Clark Five,
Reuben Wilson,
X-102,
The Dirtbombs,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Yaz,
Kurtis Blow,
Banda Bassotti,
The Raincoats,
The Buckinghams,
Connie Case,
Funkadelic,
Young Marble Giants,
Janne Schatter,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Sight & Sound,
Quando Quango,
Negative Approach,
Yusef Lateef,
Pole,
Gabor Szabo,
The Pretty Things,
The Fall,
Robert Wyatt,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Mr. Review,
Bobby Hutcherson,
T.S.O.L.,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Golliwogs,
Make Up,
Skriet,
Subhumans,
Delon & Dalcan,
MDC,
Bill Near,
Crooked Eye,
Warsaw,
Minnie Riperton,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Symarip,
The Last Poets,
The New Christs,
Hasil Adkins,
Rapeman,
Deadbeat,
Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim.
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.