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 New Zealand and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 Milan and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Moebius to the techno 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 Quantec. All the underground hits.
All Gabor Szabo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispy Ambulance 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Max Romeo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Freddie Wadling,
Jacob Miller,
The Fuzztones,
Mark Hollis,
Nick Fraelich,
Organ,
Lee Hazlewood,
Nils Olav,
The Smoke,
Excepter,
Suburban Knight,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Raincoats,
The Sound,
Arab on Radar,
Von Mondo,
Reuben Wilson,
The Selecter,
Robert Hood,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
8 Eyed Spy,
Aswad,
Yellowson,
Buzzcocks,
China Crisis,
Bobby Womack,
Severed Heads,
The Fire Engines,
Deakin,
Matthew Bourne,
JFA,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Kinks,
Gil Scott Heron,
Pussy Galore,
Faraquet,
Intrusion,
Fat Boys,
Lou Reed,
The Invisible,
The Beau Brummels,
Animal Collective,
Masters at Work,
Surgeon,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Kerri Chandler,
Minny Pops,
Jawbox,
Can,
Kenny Larkin,
Rufus Thomas,
Easy Going,
John Coltrane,
Wolf Eyes,
UT,
The Monks,
Neil Young,
Gang Gang Dance,
Scratch Acid,
Sam Rivers, Sam Rivers, Sam Rivers, Sam Rivers.
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.