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 Sudan and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 marimba 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade to the funk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Todd Rundgren. All the underground hits.
All Alice Coltrane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Shoche 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terror Squad Feat. Camron record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Underground Resistance,
Altered Images,
Andrew Hill,
Derrick May,
Barry Ungar,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Black Dice,
Letta Mbulu,
Bootsy Collins,
the Swans,
Minnie Riperton,
Nirvana,
KRS-One,
The Searchers,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Sight & Sound,
Bang On A Can,
DJ Style,
Alison Limerick,
Grey Daturas,
Iggy Pop,
Television Personalities,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Barbara Tucker,
China Crisis,
Deadbeat,
Audionom,
Banda Bassotti,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Kenny Larkin,
The Smoke,
New Order,
Kayak,
Sandy B,
Rites of Spring,
The Blues Magoos,
Jeru the Damaja,
Cluster,
Loose Ends,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Flamin' Groovies,
Kurtis Blow,
Liliput,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Skatalites,
Al Stewart,
Gang of Four,
Monolake,
Blake Baxter,
Tom Boy,
John Coltrane,
Dark Day,
The Doors,
Mission of Burma,
Bronski Beat,
X-102,
Motorama,
Wally Richardson,
the Fania All-Stars,
Bizarre Inc., Bizarre Inc., Bizarre Inc., Bizarre Inc..
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.