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 Lebanon and from Mexico City.
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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Salvador.
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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Alarm Clocks to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Black Sheep. All the underground hits.
All Ronnie Foster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Theoretical Girls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
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 Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roy Ayers,
Crispy Ambulance,
John Coltrane,
Public Enemy,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Prince Buster,
Mars,
Jacques Brel,
The Barracudas,
Delon & Dalcan,
Sex Pistols,
Jeff Mills,
Simply Red,
Josef K,
Monolake,
Ornette Coleman,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Janne Schatter,
The Human League,
Cal Tjader,
Black Pus,
Sight & Sound,
Jerry's Kids,
Lebanon Hanover,
Malaria!,
Los Fastidios,
Harry Pussy,
Agent Orange,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Tres Demented,
Wasted Youth,
Kaleidoscope,
Little Man,
Shuggie Otis,
Dorothy Ashby,
Theoretical Girls,
Girls At Our Best!,
Bang On A Can,
John Lydon,
Lower 48,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Arcadia,
Faraquet,
Avey Tare,
Cluster,
Camberwell Now,
Marshall Jefferson,
Angry Samoans,
June of 44,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
John Cale,
Inner City,
Pussy Galore,
Fear,
Gang of Four,
Massinfluence,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Terrestrial Tones,
Echospace,
X-101,
Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt.
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.