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 Yemen and from Manila.
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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 guitar 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 Brick to the techno 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 the Soft Cell. All the underground hits.
All Vainqueur tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Starr record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Sheep,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Blues Magoos,
Letta Mbulu,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Fugs,
These Immortal Souls,
Eric B and Rakim,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Howard Jones,
Mark Hollis,
Index,
The American Breed,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
U.S. Maple,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Eurythmics,
Cecil Taylor,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Gun Club,
Royal Trux,
The Slackers,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
F. McDonald,
Bang On A Can,
Television,
Talk Talk,
Funky Four + One,
Amon Düül,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Suburban Knight,
Radio Birdman,
Gang Starr,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Shadows of Knight,
Frankie Knuckles,
Skaos,
Donald Byrd,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Tubeway Army,
Bobby Sherman,
Ultra Naté,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Terry Callier,
Unrelated Segments,
Surgeon,
Freddie Wadling,
Urselle,
The Dead C,
The Zeros,
Throbbing Gristle,
Sparks,
Marine Girls,
Sandy B,
Delon & Dalcan,
Lou Christie,
Patti Smith,
Malaria!,
Liliput,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox.
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.