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 Kiribati and from Tehran.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 chamberlin 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 Sun City Girls to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Mission of Burma. All the underground hits.
All Pierre Henry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every MC5 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 mellotron and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rapeman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ash Ra Tempel,
Guru Guru,
Andrew Hill,
Grey Daturas,
New York Dolls,
Harry Pussy,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Sonic Youth,
The Trojans,
Desert Stars,
The Invisible,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Terry Callier,
Swans,
Altered Images,
Easy Going,
Jeru the Damaja,
Morten Harket,
Erasure,
Liliput,
Amon Düül II,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Loose Ends,
Groovy Waters,
The Index,
The Human League,
Au Pairs,
The Alarm Clocks,
Newcleus,
The Red Krayola,
Quadrant,
F. McDonald,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Johnny Osbourne,
Bang On A Can,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Johnny Clarke,
Minny Pops,
Tropical Tobacco,
Parry Music,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Slick Rick,
Underground Resistance,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Brand Nubian,
the Fania All-Stars,
Kool Moe Dee,
Anakelly,
Angry Samoans,
Jimmy McGriff,
Jacob Miller,
Marine Girls,
The Moleskins,
Warsaw,
The Walker Brothers,
Mission of Burma,
The Black Dice,
Rekid,
Duran Duran,
Whodini,
Roger Hodgson,
Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion, Fluxion.
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.