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 Poland and from Stockholm.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro 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 Juan Atkins to the punk 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 Infiniti. All the underground hits.
All Ash Ra Tempel tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Don Cherry 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masters at Work record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Blossom Toes,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Hot Snakes,
Hashim,
Graham Central Station,
In Retrospect,
Glambeats Corp.,
Eurythmics,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Smoke,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
the Human League,
The Martian,
Clear Light,
Shuggie Otis,
Leonard Cohen,
Marc Almond,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Interpol,
The Smiths,
Magma,
Liliput,
The Neon Judgement,
Swans,
David Bowie,
Deakin,
The Sound,
Black Sheep,
Delon & Dalcan,
Duran Duran,
The Skatalites,
Boredoms,
Dorothy Ashby,
Half Japanese,
Reuben Wilson,
Fela Kuti,
Dead Boys,
The Dirtbombs,
Tommy Roe,
Alice Coltrane,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Offenders,
Skaos,
Robert Görl,
Rapeman,
The New Christs,
the Soft Cell,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Trumans Water,
Marcia Griffiths,
Los Fastidios,
The Gun Club,
The Index,
Iggy Pop,
Marvin Gaye,
Erasure,
Quantec,
Whodini,
Motorama,
Animal Collective,
Arcadia,
Barbara Tucker,
Grey Daturas,
Blake Baxter, Blake Baxter, Blake Baxter, Blake Baxter.
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.