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 United Kingdom and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Bang On A Can to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Throbbing Gristle. All the underground hits.
All Swell Maps tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Christie record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 rhodes and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mary Jane Girls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fela Kuti,
Bobby Sherman,
8 Eyed Spy,
Ponytail,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Kinks,
Desert Stars,
Erykah Badu,
Bobby Byrd,
Maleditus Sound,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Black Flag,
Camouflage,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Shoche,
Average White Band,
Gang of Four,
Grandmaster Flash,
Mary Jane Girls,
Yazoo,
Rites of Spring,
Inner City,
Blancmange,
Panda Bear,
Andrew Hill,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Donald Byrd,
Spoonie Gee,
In Retrospect,
Pulsallama,
Amazonics,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Cowsills,
Boogie Down Productions,
Monks,
Soulsonic Force,
Marvin Gaye,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Ornette Coleman,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Minutemen,
Bluetip,
Y Pants,
The Searchers,
John Coltrane,
Oneida,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Selecter,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Joe Finger,
One Last Wish,
KRS-One,
Lakeside,
Public Enemy,
Nation of Ulysses,
Joensuu 1685,
Don Cherry,
Tres Demented,
Oblivians,
AZ,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Nils Olav,
The Toasters, The Toasters, The Toasters, The Toasters.
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.