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 Morocco and from Taipei.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Velvet Underground to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Connie Case. All the underground hits.
All Anakelly tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Y Pants record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eden Ahbez,
Eric B and Rakim,
Bobby Womack,
Albert Ayler,
Urselle,
the Bar-Kays,
Goldenarms,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Reuben Wilson,
Lebanon Hanover,
Porter Ricks,
Ponytail,
Flamin' Groovies,
Todd Rundgren,
the Fania All-Stars,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Thompson Twins,
Joey Negro,
Pierre Henry,
Ronnie Foster,
Tropical Tobacco,
Quando Quango,
Khruangbin,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Five Americans,
8 Eyed Spy,
Echospace,
Roger Hodgson,
Kaleidoscope,
Bill Near,
Icehouse,
Rakim,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
John Coltrane,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Joy Division,
Eric Copeland,
Black Flag,
The Techniques,
The Monochrome Set,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Moleskins,
The Cramps,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Jesper Dahlback,
Public Enemy,
Glenn Branca,
Danielle Patucci,
Royal Trux,
The Moody Blues,
Roy Ayers,
Cymande,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Steve Hackett,
Brick,
Funkadelic,
A Certain Ratio,
The Selecter,
John Lydon,
The Move,
Deadbeat,
Theoretical Girls, Theoretical Girls, Theoretical Girls, Theoretical Girls.
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.