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 Zimbabwe and from Tehran.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Black Dice to the grime 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 Ultramagnetic MC's. All the underground hits.
All Country Joe & The Fish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marcia Griffiths 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fortunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harry Pussy,
The Skatalites,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
John Coltrane,
Crispy Ambulance,
Jacob Miller,
Deadbeat,
Janne Schatter,
U.S. Maple,
Cal Tjader,
CMW,
Smog,
Excepter,
Warren Ellis,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Absolute Body Control,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Buzzcocks,
New Order,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Tres Demented,
Lou Reed,
The Remains,
The Vogues,
Pulsallama,
Alison Limerick,
Whodini,
Bobby Womack,
The Electric Prunes,
Y Pants,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Angry Samoans,
Sällskapet,
Quantec,
Livin' Joy,
Gang Green,
Alice Coltrane,
The Move,
DJ Sneak,
Ornette Coleman,
Motorama,
Scientists,
Model 500,
Byron Stingily,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Surgeon,
Pagans,
The Velvet Underground,
Avey Tare,
Mantronix,
The Fire Engines,
DJ Style,
X-Ray Spex,
Joy Division,
Yusef Lateef,
Sun Ra,
Newcleus,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Offenders,
Rod Modell, Rod Modell, Rod Modell, Rod Modell.
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.