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 Tokyo.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Darondo 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 The Fuzztones. All the underground hits.
All Beasts of Bourbon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wire record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 chamberlin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James White and The Blacks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Porter Ricks,
The Sonics,
Rapeman,
The Selecter,
Black Sheep,
Alton Ellis,
Dead Boys,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Reagan Youth,
Depeche Mode,
Neu!,
Bobby Womack,
Flash Fearless,
Skriet,
The Last Poets,
Bush Tetras,
Swans,
Byron Stingily,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Arab on Radar,
The Motions,
Jerry's Kids,
OOIOO,
Bad Manners,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Rhythm & Sound,
In Retrospect,
Das Ding,
Severed Heads,
Minny Pops,
Excepter,
Rakim,
Second Layer,
Pagans,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Scion,
Sparks,
Cal Tjader,
Erykah Badu,
Donald Byrd,
Lyres,
Jacques Brel,
Spandau Ballet,
Todd Terry,
Television,
Danielle Patucci,
Lakeside,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Fela Kuti,
Vladislav Delay,
AZ,
The Young Rascals,
Massinfluence,
James White and The Blacks,
Nico,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
H. Thieme,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Pussy Galore,
Technova, Technova, Technova, Technova.
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.