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 Nepal and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Teenage Jesus and the Jerks to the grunge 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 Y Pants. All the underground hits.
All Deadbeat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 chamberlin and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Grass Roots record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Mummies,
Brand Nubian,
Franke,
MC5,
The Techniques,
Quando Quango,
Pagans,
Ossler,
Frankie Knuckles,
Desert Stars,
Skaos,
Big Daddy Kane,
Flamin' Groovies,
Connie Case,
10cc,
Model 500,
Gong,
Eddi Front,
The Motions,
Supertramp,
Andrew Hill,
Agitation Free,
Pharoah Sanders,
Dennis Brown,
Heaven 17,
The Fire Engines,
Howard Jones,
The Smiths,
Anthony Braxton,
Royal Trux,
Bobby Byrd,
Lightning Bolt,
Morten Harket,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Tremeloes,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Neu!,
Underground Resistance,
The Fortunes,
Stockholm Monsters,
The United States of America,
Con Funk Shun,
Urselle,
Los Fastidios,
Spandau Ballet,
June Days,
Echospace,
Smog,
Loose Ends,
Eric B and Rakim,
Jesper Dahlback,
Peter and Kerry,
Bill Wells,
Funkadelic,
Eli Mardock,
Judy Mowatt,
Oblivians,
The Detroit Cobras,
Skriet,
Y Pants,
Sam Rivers,
Hoover,
New Age Steppers, New Age Steppers, New Age Steppers, New Age Steppers.
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.