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 Kuwait and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Slave to the techno kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Quantec. All the underground hits.
All James Chance & The Contortions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Neil Young & Crazy Horse record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eric Copeland record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
Lower 48,
Pantaleimon,
Cluster,
Banda Bassotti,
The Selecter,
Tubeway Army,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Barry Ungar,
Ronnie Foster,
Bob Dylan,
Boz Scaggs,
Crispy Ambulance,
Robert Hood,
Unwound,
Royal Trux,
The Grass Roots,
Livin' Joy,
Prince Buster,
Gang Starr,
Delta 5,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Peter and Kerry,
Visage,
Moss Icon,
Laurel Aitken,
Zapp,
Ken Boothe,
The Human League,
This Heat,
Easy Going,
Simply Red,
Audionom,
Jeff Lynne,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Moody Blues,
a-ha,
Monks,
The Names,
Pulsallama,
Eric Copeland,
Whodini,
Tomorrow,
The Seeds,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Stetsasonic,
X-102,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Bizarre Inc.,
Chris & Cosey,
Barbara Tucker,
Ludus,
The Trojans,
Hoover,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Leaves,
Cecil Taylor,
The New Christs,
Sun Ra,
Popol Vuh,
Soft Cell, Soft Cell, Soft Cell, Soft Cell.
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.