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 Macedonia and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in London.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Harry Pussy to the grime kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Music Machine. All the underground hits.
All Reuben Wilson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Blossom Toes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stereo Dub record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Selecter,
The Slackers,
Rufus Thomas,
Blake Baxter,
The Gap Band,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Neon Judgement,
Sandy B,
Gabor Szabo,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Slave,
La Düsseldorf,
Tom Boy,
Jacques Brel,
Skaos,
Groovy Waters,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Chris & Cosey,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Matthew Bourne,
H. Thieme,
The Cure,
The Cowsills,
The Wake,
Swans,
Wings,
The Mummies,
Scan 7,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Josef K,
Vladislav Delay,
Kool Moe Dee,
Wire,
Pylon,
Schoolly D,
Sister Nancy,
Lakeside,
Junior Murvin,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Alison Limerick,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Barracudas,
ABBA,
Cymande,
The Motions,
Pharoah Sanders,
Sixth Finger,
Monolake,
Dorothy Ashby,
Roger Hodgson,
the Fania All-Stars,
Crime,
The Music Machine,
Duran Duran,
Underground Resistance,
OOIOO,
The Dirtbombs,
Donny Hathaway,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Misunderstood,
The Shadows of Knight,
Hashim,
Von Mondo,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, Red Lorry Yellow Lorry.
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.