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 Ukraine and from Accra.
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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Bobby Sherman to the funk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Gian Franco Pienzio. All the underground hits.
All Icehouse tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scratch Acid 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 mellotron and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Knickerbockers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Last Poets,
In Retrospect,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Happenings,
Mr. Review,
Jandek,
The Vogues,
Neu!,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Crispian St. Peters,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Marmalade,
Rakim,
Dead Boys,
The Gun Club,
Marc Almond,
Rapeman,
The Young Rascals,
Max Romeo,
Con Funk Shun,
Pantytec,
Sun Ra,
Make Up,
Infiniti,
The Cowsills,
Heaven 17,
Babytalk,
Silicon Teens,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Agent Orange,
The Detroit Cobras,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Ultravox,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Litter,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Simply Red,
Bush Tetras,
Fat Boys,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Doors,
Harmonia,
Cymande,
the Bar-Kays,
Connie Case,
Barclay James Harvest,
Jimmy McGriff,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Rufus Thomas,
Roxette,
Stiv Bators,
Crooked Eye,
Soulsonic Force,
a-ha,
The Gladiators,
June Days,
The Wake,
Gil Scott Heron,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster.
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.