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 Haiti and from Houston.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Faraquet to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane. All the underground hits.
All Aaron Thompson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jerry Gold Smith record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Slave record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
Babytalk,
Electric Light Orchestra,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Sex Pistols,
Sparks,
Gong,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Graham Central Station,
Fugazi,
Sun City Girls,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Cymande,
Monks,
Shuggie Otis,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Lou Reed,
The Stooges,
The Trojans,
The J.B.'s,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
John Cale,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Barclay James Harvest,
Jacques Brel,
Funky Four + One,
Harry Pussy,
Juan Atkins,
Michelle Simonal,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
LL Cool J,
R.M.O.,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Modern Lovers,
Eddi Front,
The Doors,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Guru Guru,
Eyeless In Gaza,
David Bowie,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Country Teasers,
Mr. Review,
Rufus Thomas,
The Gories,
Tears for Fears,
Bad Manners,
Basic Channel,
Nik Kershaw,
Tom Boy,
Man Eating Sloth,
Outsiders,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
the Fania All-Stars,
Glenn Branca,
the Sonics,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Beau Brummels,
Clear Light,
Vladislav Delay,
Whodini,
Vainqueur,
DJ Sneak,
Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily.
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.