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 Iran and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 The Fortunes to the punk 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 Grey Daturas. All the underground hits.
All A Flock of Seagulls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mr. Review 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a F. McDonald record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultimate Spinach,
Crime,
The American Breed,
Boredoms,
Ituana,
Inner City,
Babytalk,
In Retrospect,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Oblivians,
Camouflage,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Wire,
Cheater Slicks,
Maurizio,
Bush Tetras,
Jacques Brel,
The Velvet Underground,
Godley & Creme,
Banda Bassotti,
Livin' Joy,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Alton Ellis,
The Five Americans,
Sam Rivers,
Flamin' Groovies,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Ponytail,
Ronnie Foster,
Colin Newman,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Brass Construction,
Pantytec,
Parry Music,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Brick,
Kas Product,
Rites of Spring,
Make Up,
Mission of Burma,
David Bowie,
The Doobie Brothers,
Siglo XX,
Warren Ellis,
Harmonia,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Pussy Galore,
Main Source,
Tomorrow,
Public Enemy,
Newcleus,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Pylon,
Nation of Ulysses,
John Holt,
Fear,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Standells,
Black Flag,
Girls At Our Best!,
Essential Logic,
Lucky Dragons,
LL Cool J,
Barry Ungar,
Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis.
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.