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 Ukraine and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 rhodes 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 The Smoke to the electroclash 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 Johnny Clarke. All the underground hits.
All The Birthday Party tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Curtis Mayfield,
This Heat,
Bobby Womack,
Das Ding,
The Tremeloes,
Gang Gang Dance,
Eric Dolphy,
Infiniti,
The Slackers,
Los Fastidios,
The Leaves,
Byron Stingily,
Soul II Soul,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Swans,
Can,
Accadde A,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Heaven 17,
The Misunderstood,
Dawn Penn,
Procol Harum,
The Dead C,
Moby Grape,
Stiv Bators,
Mo-Dettes,
Japan,
The United States of America,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Chrome,
Crime,
Janne Schatter,
Pole,
The New Christs,
Pet Shop Boys,
Radiopuhelimet,
Whodini,
Yusef Lateef,
T. Rex,
New Age Steppers,
Inner City,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Martian,
Kenny Larkin,
Donald Byrd,
Stetsasonic,
Anakelly,
R.M.O.,
Bob Dylan,
X-102,
Mad Mike,
Man Eating Sloth,
Ice-T,
The Move,
Lungfish,
The Alarm Clocks,
Aloha Tigers,
Sonic Youth,
Minny Pops,
Sixth Finger,
Todd Rundgren,
Ralphi Rosario, Ralphi Rosario, Ralphi Rosario, Ralphi Rosario.
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.