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 Belarus and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 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 Moby Grape to the funk 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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All Throbbing Gristle tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Pus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 güiro and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Blues Magoos record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Glambeats Corp.,
Panda Bear,
Interpol,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Davy DMX,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Alarm Clocks,
Ralphi Rosario,
Jacob Miller,
Scan 7,
Television,
Organ,
Jeru the Damaja,
Symarip,
Robert Hood,
Con Funk Shun,
Sugar Minott,
The Skatalites,
DJ Style,
Bill Wells,
Pussy Galore,
Harmonia,
John Coltrane,
Soul Sonic Force,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
John Holt,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Q and Not U,
Lindisfarne,
The Raincoats,
Q65,
Yaz,
Joe Smooth,
Ken Boothe,
Amon Düül II,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Monks,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Neil Young,
Trumans Water,
Godley & Creme,
Be Bop Deluxe,
10cc,
Sparks,
Wasted Youth,
Radiohead,
The Human League,
Bootsy Collins,
Alphaville,
Leonard Cohen,
Gang Starr,
The Angels of Light,
Spandau Ballet,
Fat Boys,
La Düsseldorf,
June Days,
Bang On A Can,
Anthony Braxton,
Robert Wyatt,
Nico,
Robert Görl,
Lungfish,
The Names,
The Doobie Brothers, The Doobie Brothers, The Doobie Brothers, The Doobie Brothers.
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.