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 East Timor and from Shanghai.
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 1963 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Eric Copeland to the disco 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 Dawn Penn. All the underground hits.
All Crispian St. Peters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Josef K record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 mellotron and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grauzone record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ohio Players,
Judy Mowatt,
Boz Scaggs,
The Gun Club,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Dead Boys,
Desert Stars,
Terry Callier,
Rod Modell,
Blake Baxter,
Ultimate Spinach,
Connie Case,
Skriet,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
the Association,
The Modern Lovers,
Delon & Dalcan,
Jawbox,
The Moleskins,
Nas,
Sandy B,
Barrington Levy,
The Cramps,
Tommy Roe,
Dual Sessions,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
OOIOO,
Black Bananas,
Oneida,
The Doors,
The Dirtbombs,
Lalann,
Kenny Larkin,
The Electric Prunes,
Camberwell Now,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
F. McDonald,
Gang Green,
Ponytail,
ABBA,
Lee Hazlewood,
Charles Mingus,
48th St. Collective,
Mr. Review,
the Bar-Kays,
The Martian,
the Fania All-Stars,
Scrapy,
Suicide,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Siglo XX,
Fugazi,
The Human League,
Dennis Brown,
Jimmy McGriff,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Seeds,
Funkadelic,
Amon Düül II,
Excepter,
Amazonics,
The Mummies,
Parry Music, Parry Music, Parry Music, Parry Music.
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.