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 Sweden and from Taipei.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Tehran.
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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 T. Rex to the rock kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Loose Ends. All the underground hits.
All Bad Manners tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 an organ and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Janne Schatter,
Tomorrow,
The Gladiators,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Vogues,
Judy Mowatt,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Techniques,
The Fall,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Roger Hodgson,
Niagra,
John Coltrane,
The Red Krayola,
Eurythmics,
Sonny Sharrock,
E-Dancer,
Jawbox,
Heaven 17,
Pierre Henry,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Real Kids,
Johnny Clarke,
Curtis Mayfield,
Spoonie Gee,
The Pretty Things,
The Seeds,
Khruangbin,
Ohio Players,
Porter Ricks,
Eden Ahbez,
Todd Terry,
K-Klass,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Surgeon,
Fear,
Bob Dylan,
Technova,
Bronski Beat,
Aloha Tigers,
John Foxx,
Subhumans,
The Smoke,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Wasted Youth,
Lee Hazlewood,
Eve St. Jones,
Maleditus Sound,
Pussy Galore,
Circle Jerks,
Barclay James Harvest,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Simply Red,
Tears for Fears,
The Gap Band,
Young Marble Giants,
Altered Images,
Gil Scott Heron,
Grauzone,
Laurel Aitken,
The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps.
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.