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 Zambia and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Gap Band to the disco 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 John Lydon. All the underground hits.
All The Mummies tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Strawberry Alarm Clock 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Y Pants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Joy Division,
The Leaves,
Lower 48,
Basic Channel,
Gang Green,
Scientists,
The Mummies,
Alison Limerick,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Hasil Adkins,
Faust,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Prince Buster,
Cal Tjader,
B.T. Express,
Wally Richardson,
The Walker Brothers,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Star Department,
Matthew Bourne,
China Crisis,
Camouflage,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
E-Dancer,
Ituana,
Camberwell Now,
The Sonics,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
John Foxx,
Graham Central Station,
Althea and Donna,
Bronski Beat,
Soft Cell,
The Kinks,
Blancmange,
The Golliwogs,
Banda Bassotti,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Negative Approach,
Al Stewart,
Skaos,
Neil Young,
James White and The Blacks,
Gastr Del Sol,
Guru Guru,
Rufus Thomas,
The Music Machine,
Idris Muhammad,
Boredoms,
Mr. Review,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Dead Boys,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C.
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.