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 Belgium and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 harpsichord 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 Suburban Knight to the grunge 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 Panda Bear. All the underground hits.
All Harry Pussy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a June of 44 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang Green,
B.T. Express,
Barry Ungar,
Scientists,
The Motions,
Mission of Burma,
The Misunderstood,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Red Krayola,
Massinfluence,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Sonics,
Eddi Front,
Soft Machine,
The Litter,
Gastr Del Sol,
Boogie Down Productions,
Funkadelic,
The Selecter,
Liliput,
CMW,
Albert Ayler,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Cheater Slicks,
Icehouse,
Sarah Menescal,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Harpers Bizarre,
Pussy Galore,
Nation of Ulysses,
Idris Muhammad,
Qualms,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
DJ Sneak,
The Dirtbombs,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Skriet,
The Flesh Eaters,
Ronan,
Terrestrial Tones,
Archie Shepp,
Crime,
MDC,
Tom Boy,
Shuggie Otis,
Anakelly,
Spoonie Gee,
Lakeside,
Magma,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Aaron Thompson,
Marcia Griffiths,
Harry Pussy,
Vladislav Delay,
Dead Boys,
Easy Going,
Matthew Bourne,
Bill Near,
Electric Prunes,
R.M.O.,
Infiniti,
Can,
Soul II Soul,
The Real Kids, The Real Kids, The Real Kids, The Real Kids.
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.