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 Tanzania and from Mumbai.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the 808 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 Jeru the Damaja to the jazz 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 David McCallum. All the underground hits.
All The Real Kids tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Saccharine Trust 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James Chance & The Contortions record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultra Naté,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Thee Headcoats,
Goldenarms,
The Flesh Eaters,
David Bowie,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Martian,
Amon Düül,
Dawn Penn,
Desert Stars,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Whodini,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Graham Central Station,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Victims,
Jandek,
Todd Rundgren,
Susan Cadogan,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Ultimate Spinach,
10cc,
ABBA,
L. Decosne,
Lyres,
The Smoke,
Nick Fraelich,
Eric Copeland,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Skaos,
Tres Demented,
Juan Atkins,
Black Moon,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Hashim,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
U.S. Maple,
Vainqueur,
Liliput,
Yusef Lateef,
David Axelrod,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Grey Daturas,
Pussy Galore,
John Foxx,
Mars,
LL Cool J,
David McCallum,
The Divine Comedy,
The Mummies,
Severed Heads,
Suicide,
Heaven 17,
Black Sheep,
Ossler,
The Residents,
Magma, Magma, Magma, Magma.
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.