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 Turkey and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 oboe 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 Donny Hathaway to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 La Düsseldorf. All the underground hits.
All Gary Puckett & The Union Gap tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Main Source 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tom Boy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Intrusion,
Frankie Knuckles,
Barrington Levy,
The Star Department,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Y Pants,
Grauzone,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Harry Pussy,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Jerry's Kids,
Wasted Youth,
Sister Nancy,
Tommy Roe,
The Selecter,
Desert Stars,
Ultravox,
Amon Düül,
Ronnie Foster,
Dual Sessions,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Theoretical Girls,
Panda Bear,
The Tremeloes,
Chris & Cosey,
Ken Boothe,
Bush Tetras,
Lalo Schifrin,
Bobby Byrd,
DJ Sneak,
Silicon Teens,
Flash Fearless,
Minor Threat,
The Divine Comedy,
Spandau Ballet,
Chris Corsano,
Joe Finger,
H. Thieme,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Neon Judgement,
The Litter,
Scan 7,
Yazoo,
Janne Schatter,
Ronan,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Crime,
Mr. Review,
These Immortal Souls,
Scion,
T. Rex,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Index,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Swans,
Brick,
Toni Rubio,
E-Dancer,
Brand Nubian,
Roger Hodgson,
Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill.
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.