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 Malta and from Tehran.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Cheater Slicks to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Porter Ricks. All the underground hits.
All The Mojo Men tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Sonics 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pere Ubu record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Motorama,
Black Pus,
Pere Ubu,
Tommy Roe,
The American Breed,
Lungfish,
Rosa Yemen,
John Cale,
The Happenings,
Brothers Johnson,
The Gories,
Niagra,
Severed Heads,
Fear,
This Heat,
The Divine Comedy,
The Index,
Monks,
The Tremeloes,
Mission of Burma,
Nils Olav,
Underground Resistance,
Roxette,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Crooked Eye,
The Zeros,
Second Layer,
Franke,
Sugar Minott,
Henry Cow,
The Modern Lovers,
Hardrive,
the Sonics,
Barclay James Harvest,
Idris Muhammad,
X-Ray Spex,
Infiniti,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Roger Hodgson,
Erykah Badu,
Freddie Wadling,
June of 44,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Eurythmics,
Electric Prunes,
The Durutti Column,
Maleditus Sound,
Throbbing Gristle,
Crispy Ambulance,
Ken Boothe,
The Red Krayola,
Lou Reed,
The Fall,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Doors,
David Axelrod,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Gabor Szabo,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Fortunes,
Terry Callier,
Simply Red,
Kas Product, Kas Product, Kas Product, Kas Product.
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.