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 Jamaica and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks to the rap 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 Sugar Minott. All the underground hits.
All The American Breed tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Doobie Brothers 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jacques Brel,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Theoretical Girls,
Rotary Connection,
The Dead C,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Soft Cell,
The Victims,
Reagan Youth,
Bush Tetras,
Idris Muhammad,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Maurizio,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Nick Fraelich,
Technova,
Harry Pussy,
Kurtis Blow,
The Tremeloes,
Pole,
Junior Murvin,
Fad Gadget,
The Real Kids,
Von Mondo,
H. Thieme,
Blancmange,
Tears for Fears,
Bobby Womack,
Bad Manners,
Sarah Menescal,
John Cale,
the Normal,
Bill Near,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Ultra Naté,
Sun Ra,
Youth Brigade,
Masters at Work,
Curtis Mayfield,
Cybotron,
Funkadelic,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Moleskins,
Dorothy Ashby,
Hot Snakes,
Kerri Chandler,
The Stooges,
The Invisible,
Terry Callier,
Gang of Four,
Black Bananas,
Television Personalities,
The Cowsills,
The Divine Comedy,
Easy Going,
Erykah Badu,
Sugar Minott,
Fela Kuti,
Lakeside,
The Star Department,
Kango’s Stein Massive, Kango’s Stein Massive, Kango’s Stein Massive, Kango’s Stein Massive.
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.