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 Equatorial Guinea and from Copenhagen.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Electric Light Orchestra to the crunk 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 Joe Smooth. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Bananas 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Moody Blues record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dead Boys,
Davy DMX,
Tomorrow,
Dark Day,
Pole,
John Cale,
John Coltrane,
Japan,
Joyce Sims,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Judy Mowatt,
The Blues Magoos,
Pylon,
Minnie Riperton,
The Gories,
The Litter,
The Real Kids,
Qualms,
Drive Like Jehu,
Los Fastidios,
Spoonie Gee,
Flipper,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Dead C,
EPMD,
The Fugs,
Underground Resistance,
Barbara Tucker,
Spandau Ballet,
Cluster,
Sixth Finger,
Ralphi Rosario,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Eli Mardock,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Matthew Halsall,
Maurizio,
The Divine Comedy,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Monochrome Set,
Jeru the Damaja,
Stockholm Monsters,
Bill Near,
Severed Heads,
Mandrill,
June of 44,
H. Thieme,
Ronan,
Fluxion,
The Moody Blues,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
One Last Wish,
Faraquet,
Sonny Sharrock,
Grey Daturas,
Man Parrish,
Gerry Rafferty,
Slick Rick,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Lucky Dragons,
The Smiths,
The Human League,
Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar.
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.