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 Kyrgyzstan and from Paris.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the snare 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 The Last Poets to the crunk 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 Moss Icon. All the underground hits.
All Rotary Connection tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Curtis Mayfield record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Flamin' Groovies record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wire,
UT,
David Bowie,
Bootsy Collins,
The Motions,
Suicide,
The Trojans,
Boz Scaggs,
Minutemen,
Rufus Thomas,
Anthony Braxton,
the Bar-Kays,
Ten City,
Drive Like Jehu,
Angry Samoans,
DNA,
Nick Fraelich,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Deadbeat,
Harpers Bizarre,
Bauhaus,
Jesper Dahlback,
Marc Almond,
R.M.O.,
Gong,
Todd Terry,
Scratch Acid,
Alton Ellis,
Stetsasonic,
U.S. Maple,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Make Up,
Circle Jerks,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Star Department,
Rapeman,
Mark Hollis,
Magazine,
James White and The Blacks,
Monks,
Laurel Aitken,
The Smiths,
Barry Ungar,
Accadde A,
The Fire Engines,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Excepter,
PIL,
Zero Boys,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Doors,
Scott Walker,
Sun City Girls,
Funky Four + One,
The Tremeloes,
Peter and Kerry,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Fatback Band,
The J.B.'s,
The Walker Brothers,
Archie Shepp,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Essential Logic, Essential Logic, Essential Logic, Essential Logic.
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.