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 Korea North and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Grass Roots to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Royal Family And The Poor. All the underground hits.
All Ralphi Rosario tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Chris Corsano record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 linndrum and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin 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 Associates,
Hot Snakes,
Grauzone,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Sällskapet,
Stereo Dub,
the Sonics,
Vainqueur,
Barrington Levy,
Main Source,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Skriet,
Kas Product,
R.M.O.,
Rhythm & Sound,
Royal Trux,
EPMD,
The Smoke,
Wolf Eyes,
Neil Young,
The Evens,
Bobby Byrd,
Index,
The Count Five,
Tropical Tobacco,
48th St. Collective,
Jeff Lynne,
Leonard Cohen,
Anakelly,
The Music Machine,
Joe Finger,
Delon & Dalcan,
Silicon Teens,
Saccharine Trust,
Brothers Johnson,
Glenn Branca,
Livin' Joy,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Agitation Free,
Sonny Sharrock,
Buzzcocks,
Ultra Naté,
Zero Boys,
A Certain Ratio,
Prince Buster,
Roy Ayers,
The Modern Lovers,
MDC,
Black Moon,
Terrestrial Tones,
Gang Green,
Banda Bassotti,
Nick Fraelich,
Black Bananas,
Ken Boothe,
The Dirtbombs,
Letta Mbulu,
Junior Murvin,
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.