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 Costa Rica and from Bologna.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Residents to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Accadde A. All the underground hits.
All The Shadows of Knight tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every One Last Wish record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Parry Music record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Saints,
The Zeros,
Juan Atkins,
Archie Shepp,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
James White and The Blacks,
Alice Coltrane,
The Modern Lovers,
Black Sheep,
Goldenarms,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Joyce Sims,
Anthony Braxton,
The Standells,
The Busters,
Flipper,
The Martian,
Kerrie Biddell,
New York Dolls,
The Slits,
Arthur Verocai,
Country Teasers,
The Cowsills,
Rhythm & Sound,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Scion,
the Bar-Kays,
The Leaves,
Cymande,
Kayak,
David Axelrod,
The Human League,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Pantytec,
Liliput,
Crash Course in Science,
Swell Maps,
The Last Poets,
Terry Callier,
Organ,
Pere Ubu,
Bang On A Can,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Lou Christie,
Moby Grape,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Glambeats Corp.,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Jeru the Damaja,
Michelle Simonal,
Avey Tare,
The Kinks,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
The Fire Engines,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Happenings,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Minor Threat,
Curtis Mayfield,
Neu!, Neu!, Neu!, Neu!.
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.