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 Guinea-Bissau and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Philadelphia.
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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Supertramp to the punk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Radio Birdman. All the underground hits.
All The Birthday Party tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Don Cherry 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispian St. Peters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fuzztones,
The Fortunes,
The Gories,
The Searchers,
Sixth Finger,
Joe Smooth,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Associates,
The Neon Judgement,
Flamin' Groovies,
Steve Hackett,
Newcleus,
Roy Ayers,
Bobby Sherman,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Todd Rundgren,
Monks,
Hashim,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Evens,
Graham Central Station,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Eurythmics,
Rufus Thomas,
Icehouse,
the Normal,
Donald Byrd,
Deakin,
Gong,
Ten City,
Crime,
Black Flag,
New Order,
Organ,
OOIOO,
Freddie Wadling,
The Monochrome Set,
Kaleidoscope,
The Moody Blues,
The Birthday Party,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
T.S.O.L.,
Barclay James Harvest,
Q65,
Gang of Four,
Saccharine Trust,
L. Decosne,
The Beau Brummels,
The Music Machine,
The Happenings,
The Cowsills,
John Holt,
Marcia Griffiths,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Joyce Sims,
Bluetip,
Angry Samoans,
Nils Olav,
The Last Poets,
Silicon Teens,
Pantytec,
Nico, Nico, Nico, Nico.
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.