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 Bolivia and from Hong Kong.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Shanghai.
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 808 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 B.T. Express to the rap 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 Eric B and Rakim. All the underground hits.
All Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alphaville record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Selecter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Five Americans,
Main Source,
Radiopuhelimet,
Brand Nubian,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Talk Talk,
The Monochrome Set,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
B.T. Express,
Wolf Eyes,
Jandek,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Crash Course in Science,
Rapeman,
James White and The Blacks,
Lungfish,
10cc,
Joensuu 1685,
The Birthday Party,
Colin Newman,
Blossom Toes,
Drexciya,
Roxette,
Cal Tjader,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Susan Cadogan,
The Blackbyrds,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Harpers Bizarre,
Audionom,
Faraquet,
Technova,
Amon Düül,
World's Most,
Essential Logic,
Skriet,
Zapp,
The Index,
The J.B.'s,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Oneida,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Eric Dolphy,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Altered Images,
Lou Reed,
Absolute Body Control,
Bauhaus,
Stetsasonic,
Adolescents,
Khruangbin,
Bill Wells,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Tears for Fears,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Martian,
48th St. Collective,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Seeds,
Vladislav Delay,
DNA,
Warsaw, Warsaw, Warsaw, Warsaw.
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.