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 Afghanistan and from Copenhagen.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Flesh Eaters to the punk 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 Terrestrial Tones. All the underground hits.
All Make Up tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Amazonics record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 clarinet and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Malaria! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang of Four,
Unrelated Segments,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Jeff Lynne,
Crispy Ambulance,
Rapeman,
H. Thieme,
The Neon Judgement,
Au Pairs,
Lightning Bolt,
F. McDonald,
Marc Almond,
Eve St. Jones,
Amon Düül II,
the Swans,
Ohio Players,
The Modern Lovers,
The Walker Brothers,
the Bar-Kays,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Franke,
Gerry Rafferty,
Harmonia,
Wings,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Cheater Slicks,
Joyce Sims,
Ronan,
Radiopuhelimet,
This Heat,
The Gladiators,
OOIOO,
Quando Quango,
Tres Demented,
Peter & Gordon,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Archie Shepp,
the Sonics,
Roxy Music,
UT,
Sight & Sound,
The Barracudas,
Sparks,
Suburban Knight,
The Smiths,
Heaven 17,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Clear Light,
Youth Brigade,
John Cale,
Black Bananas,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Al Stewart,
Wally Richardson,
Johnny Osbourne,
Zapp,
Tropical Tobacco,
Soft Machine,
Liliput,
Blossom Toes,
Boz Scaggs, Boz Scaggs, Boz Scaggs, Boz Scaggs.
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.