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 Moldova and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 harpsichord 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 Young Marble Giants to the disco kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Anakelly tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sound Behaviour record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Five Americans,
Simply Red,
The Smiths,
Quando Quango,
Vladislav Delay,
John Holt,
Steve Hackett,
The Alarm Clocks,
AZ,
Rakim,
The Evens,
Flipper,
Pussy Galore,
China Crisis,
Bizarre Inc.,
Bauhaus,
The United States of America,
The Knickerbockers,
Althea and Donna,
Lindisfarne,
Country Teasers,
Radio Birdman,
Scrapy,
Delta 5,
Fear,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Rapeman,
The Standells,
Rhythm & Sound,
Pharoah Sanders,
Marcia Griffiths,
Lucky Dragons,
Kerrie Biddell,
Dead Boys,
Joensuu 1685,
The Kinks,
In Retrospect,
Peter and Kerry,
Harpers Bizarre,
Toni Rubio,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Fugazi,
Glenn Branca,
Roxy Music,
Alison Limerick,
Essential Logic,
Spoonie Gee,
Wings,
Drive Like Jehu,
Throbbing Gristle,
Deadbeat,
Roy Ayers,
Japan,
Franke,
Quantec,
Young Marble Giants,
Peter & Gordon,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Terry Callier,
Ronnie Foster,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Blossom Toes,
The Music Machine,
Eurythmics, Eurythmics, Eurythmics, Eurythmics.
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.