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 Mauritania 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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Visage to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 James White and The Blacks. All the underground hits.
All Art Ensemble Of Chicago tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Parry Music 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gian Franco Pienzio record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang of Four,
Moebius,
Joy Division,
Public Enemy,
Kaleidoscope,
Archie Shepp,
Bobbi Humphrey,
John Cale,
Desert Stars,
Boogie Down Productions,
Ornette Coleman,
R.M.O.,
David Axelrod,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Bobby Womack,
Trumans Water,
The Offenders,
The Doobie Brothers,
Brick,
Wasted Youth,
Barry Ungar,
Fugazi,
Funky Four + One,
48th St. Collective,
Lalann,
Depeche Mode,
Warsaw,
Rod Modell,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Raincoats,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Soul II Soul,
Organ,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Tropical Tobacco,
Second Layer,
Metal Thangz,
DJ Sneak,
Jawbox,
MC5,
Joyce Sims,
The Toasters,
Tommy Roe,
Jerry's Kids,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Golliwogs,
Bill Near,
Toni Rubio,
Juan Atkins,
Scott Walker,
The Techniques,
The Tremeloes,
FM Einheit,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Patti Smith,
Scientists,
10cc,
Niagra,
Reuben Wilson,
Whodini,
Eric Dolphy,
Kerrie Biddell,
Yaz, Yaz, Yaz, Yaz.
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.