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 Spain and from Hong Kong.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the oboe 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 In Retrospect to the punk 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 The Standells. All the underground hits.
All The Fire Engines tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Spoonie Gee record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Trumans Water,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Trojans,
Slick Rick,
Shoche,
Crime,
Grey Daturas,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Icehouse,
Frankie Knuckles,
Stetsasonic,
The Buckinghams,
K-Klass,
Neil Young,
Desert Stars,
Reuben Wilson,
Das Ding,
Whodini,
Donald Byrd,
Ten City,
Electric Prunes,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Stiv Bators,
Section 25,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Bill Wells,
Harry Pussy,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Masters at Work,
X-Ray Spex,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Lee Hazlewood,
Au Pairs,
Bluetip,
Hasil Adkins,
Byron Stingily,
KRS-One,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
X-102,
Marcia Griffiths,
Soft Cell,
New Age Steppers,
Andrew Hill,
Reagan Youth,
Funkadelic,
Fad Gadget,
The Gap Band,
Livin' Joy,
The Kinks,
This Heat,
Wolf Eyes,
The Invisible,
Sight & Sound,
Black Flag,
Q and Not U,
Flipper,
Black Moon,
Groovy Waters,
Scratch Acid, Scratch Acid, Scratch Acid, Scratch Acid.
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.