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 Kyrgyzstan 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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the guitar 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 Shuggie Otis to the jazz 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 Symarip. All the underground hits.
All Swell Maps tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Don Cherry 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Make Up record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Eric B and Rakim,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Laurel Aitken,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Last Poets,
John Coltrane,
The Velvet Underground,
E-Dancer,
X-Ray Spex,
Ultimate Spinach,
Crash Course in Science,
Prince Buster,
Barbara Tucker,
David McCallum,
Soft Machine,
Minnie Riperton,
Gang Green,
Bad Manners,
The Monks,
Motorama,
Section 25,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Infiniti,
The Cramps,
Sandy B,
Roxette,
Marc Almond,
John Lydon,
48th St. Collective,
Ten City,
The Fall,
Banda Bassotti,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Radiopuhelimet,
Rapeman,
Radiohead,
The Misunderstood,
The Angels of Light,
kango's stein massive,
Howard Jones,
Frankie Knuckles,
Sonic Youth,
Freddie Wadling,
Maurizio,
Anthony Braxton,
Index,
Joy Division,
Neil Young,
The Neon Judgement,
Erasure,
Idris Muhammad,
Camberwell Now,
Metal Thangz,
Bang On A Can,
Sällskapet,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Barry Ungar,
L. Decosne,
Marine Girls,
Roy Ayers, Roy Ayers, Roy Ayers, Roy Ayers.
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.