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 China and from Paris.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 New York Dolls to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 X-Ray Spex. All the underground hits.
All 48th St. Collective tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Sisters of Mercy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crash Course in Science record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Y Pants,
Bauhaus,
Icehouse,
Urselle,
Rakim,
Crispy Ambulance,
Masters at Work,
Black Moon,
Glenn Branca,
Davy DMX,
Nation of Ulysses,
New Age Steppers,
The Remains,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Terrestrial Tones,
Inner City,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Sarah Menescal,
Byron Stingily,
Hot Snakes,
The Divine Comedy,
Scrapy,
Lalo Schifrin,
Minutemen,
Cal Tjader,
T. Rex,
Mo-Dettes,
Tears for Fears,
Yaz,
Roxy Music,
kango's stein massive,
Aaron Thompson,
Reuben Wilson,
Sister Nancy,
The Beau Brummels,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Mission of Burma,
Infiniti,
The Real Kids,
The Durutti Column,
Buzzcocks,
Delta 5,
Jacques Brel,
Kurtis Blow,
The Monks,
Surgeon,
Leonard Cohen,
Au Pairs,
Sonic Youth,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Suburban Knight,
David McCallum,
Terry Callier,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Invisible,
Amon Düül II,
Dead Boys,
Chrome,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Susan Cadogan,
Saccharine Trust,
Michelle Simonal,
D'Angelo,
Hashim, Hashim, Hashim, Hashim.
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.