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 Australia 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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Ornette Coleman to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Model 500. All the underground hits.
All Angry Samoans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Andrew Hill record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 harpsichord and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 48th St. Collective record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crime,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
T.S.O.L.,
Babytalk,
Inner City,
Josef K,
Marshall Jefferson,
JFA,
Outsiders,
Flash Fearless,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Slick Rick,
Gang of Four,
Susan Cadogan,
Trumans Water,
The Fall,
Pantytec,
the Bar-Kays,
The Motions,
The Dave Clark Five,
Mo-Dettes,
The Cramps,
Fear,
Barbara Tucker,
Lungfish,
The Flesh Eaters,
Index,
Rotary Connection,
Spandau Ballet,
Vladislav Delay,
Sex Pistols,
Lucky Dragons,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Evens,
Byron Stingily,
Robert Görl,
Y Pants,
Oblivians,
Barclay James Harvest,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Cure,
Pole,
the Association,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Slackers,
The Doobie Brothers,
Toni Rubio,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Drexciya,
Tim Buckley,
Au Pairs,
Shoche,
Lou Reed,
Marine Girls,
Cheater Slicks,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Jawbox,
Lyres,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Joey Negro,
Soft Machine,
The Raincoats,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds.
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.