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 Czech Republic and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band to the funk 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 The Selecter. All the underground hits.
All The Slits tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every ABBA 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jeru the Damaja 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?
Scrapy,
Harry Pussy,
Fugazi,
Ornette Coleman,
Pantytec,
Tommy Roe,
H. Thieme,
Quantec,
The Selecter,
The Slits,
Lou Reed,
Marine Girls,
Bill Near,
Rites of Spring,
the Swans,
Pulsallama,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
John Coltrane,
Kayak,
The Monks,
Yazoo,
The Move,
Todd Terry,
E-Dancer,
Moebius,
Archie Shepp,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Judy Mowatt,
Grauzone,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
James White and The Blacks,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
EPMD,
Dave Gahan,
Alice Coltrane,
Rhythm & Sound,
Drexciya,
Vainqueur,
Pantaleimon,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Japan,
Cameo,
Oneida,
Isaac Hayes,
The Smoke,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Nik Kershaw,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Fatback Band,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Red Krayola,
Zapp,
Funky Four + One,
Jacques Brel,
Arthur Verocai,
Swans,
Terrestrial Tones,
Ituana,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Scientists,
Underground Resistance,
Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys.
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.