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 Haiti and from Sao Paulo.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 marimba 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 Eric Copeland 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 Masters at Work. All the underground hits.
All Make Up tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rakim record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Erykah Badu record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ken Boothe,
Danielle Patucci,
Cheater Slicks,
Steve Hackett,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Funky Four + One,
Byron Stingily,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Selecter,
The Motions,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Minnie Riperton,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Residents,
Mad Mike,
Sandy B,
Frankie Knuckles,
Camouflage,
Fatback Band,
Basic Channel,
Severed Heads,
Cal Tjader,
Underground Resistance,
D'Angelo,
Marvin Gaye,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
B.T. Express,
These Immortal Souls,
The Count Five,
Absolute Body Control,
Kerrie Biddell,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Offenders,
OOIOO,
Symarip,
X-101,
Spandau Ballet,
Pantaleimon,
Aural Exciters,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Barbara Tucker,
Niagra,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
The Birthday Party,
The Smiths,
Y Pants,
Gang Green,
The American Breed,
Amazonics,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Fortunes,
Tom Boy,
The Pretty Things,
Flash Fearless,
Main Source,
The Slits,
Boz Scaggs,
Sam Rivers,
Youth Brigade,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo, Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo, Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo, Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo.
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.