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 Cape Verde and from Tokyo.
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 1963 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Unwound to the techno 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 Brand Nubian. All the underground hits.
All Dorothy Ashby tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The United States of America record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 a chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Frankie Knuckles record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tomorrow,
Swell Maps,
Sex Pistols,
Rufus Thomas,
Von Mondo,
June Days,
The Real Kids,
Arthur Verocai,
Masters at Work,
F. McDonald,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Dennis Brown,
John Coltrane,
The Blues Magoos,
Jeff Lynne,
Faust,
Pagans,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Camouflage,
Magma,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Litter,
Sam Rivers,
Marmalade,
Rapeman,
48th St. Collective,
Joe Smooth,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Eden Ahbez,
Young Marble Giants,
Frankie Knuckles,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Toni Rubio,
Soul II Soul,
Main Source,
Moebius,
Nico,
Interpol,
Man Parrish,
Warsaw,
X-Ray Spex,
The Smiths,
Half Japanese,
Bronski Beat,
Scan 7,
The Velvet Underground,
The Gladiators,
The Last Poets,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Eurythmics,
Anakelly,
10cc,
One Last Wish,
Minny Pops,
Heaven 17,
Dead Boys,
Unwound,
Alphaville,
Cluster,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Quando Quango,
the Swans,
the Sonics,
La Düsseldorf, La Düsseldorf, La Düsseldorf, La Düsseldorf.
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.