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 Zambia and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Sao Paulo.
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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the 808 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 Johnny Clarke to the electroclash 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 EPMD. All the underground hits.
All Throbbing Gristle tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Yaz record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Dead C,
The Martian,
Bob Dylan,
MDC,
Gang of Four,
The Standells,
Arab on Radar,
Robert Hood,
Derrick Morgan,
Visage,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Public Enemy,
Cal Tjader,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Last Poets,
Popol Vuh,
The Toasters,
Lightning Bolt,
Kevin Saunderson,
Skriet,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Boredoms,
Reuben Wilson,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Kayak,
Minnie Riperton,
Marine Girls,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Crash Course in Science,
Eve St. Jones,
Sugar Minott,
Rotary Connection,
Cameo,
Laurel Aitken,
Siglo XX,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Eric B and Rakim,
New Age Steppers,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Simply Red,
Moss Icon,
Davy DMX,
Vladislav Delay,
Technova,
The American Breed,
Silicon Teens,
B.T. Express,
The Knickerbockers,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Spoonie Gee,
Fat Boys,
The Busters,
Faust,
Nation of Ulysses,
John Coltrane,
The Smoke,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Freddie Wadling,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Bad Manners,
Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks.
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.