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 Netherlands and from Taipei.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Tehran.
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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
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 Sisters of Mercy to the punk 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 Skriet. All the underground hits.
All Marmalade tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Harmonia record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a theremin 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 arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barry Ungar,
The American Breed,
Ken Boothe,
Shoche,
T. Rex,
the Slits,
The Gories,
Big Daddy Kane,
Yusef Lateef,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Blancmange,
June of 44,
Niagra,
Rekid,
The Fall,
Deepchord,
Negative Approach,
Agent Orange,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Parry Music,
The Divine Comedy,
Davy DMX,
Buzzcocks,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Lower 48,
Blake Baxter,
Yellowson,
The Neon Judgement,
Jerry's Kids,
Dennis Brown,
The Mojo Men,
Terrestrial Tones,
the Fania All-Stars,
Fluxion,
KRS-One,
Lee Hazlewood,
Rites of Spring,
Lou Reed,
Al Stewart,
Jeff Mills,
Sparks,
Warsaw,
In Retrospect,
Con Funk Shun,
Ultra Naté,
Gichy Dan,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Young Rascals,
Slick Rick,
Jesper Dahlback,
Sun City Girls,
Max Romeo,
Black Moon,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Steve Hackett,
Sexual Harrassment,
Tomorrow,
The Beau Brummels,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Pop Group,
Bush Tetras,
The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps.
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.