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 Ukraine and from Hong Kong.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Lyon.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Flamin' Groovies to the grime kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Newcleus. All the underground hits.
All Pharoah Sanders tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Cosmic Jokers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 a linndrum and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Bananas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eurythmics,
Severed Heads,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Deadbeat,
Ossler,
the Swans,
Lower 48,
the Human League,
Roy Ayers,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Brass Construction,
Joyce Sims,
Moebius,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The New Christs,
Country Joe & The Fish,
June Days,
Sister Nancy,
Malaria!,
Bang On A Can,
Cybotron,
The Blackbyrds,
Maurizio,
The Searchers,
The Zeros,
Sam Rivers,
CMW,
Grey Daturas,
Easy Going,
The Gladiators,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Scratch Acid,
Audionom,
Suicide,
Pere Ubu,
Pantytec,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Henry Cow,
Max Romeo,
Gang Gang Dance,
Sarah Menescal,
The Motions,
Alton Ellis,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Lindisfarne,
Smog,
Jacques Brel,
Silicon Teens,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Trumans Water,
Arthur Verocai,
Carl Craig,
Infiniti,
The Mummies,
The Barracudas,
The Sonics,
The Modern Lovers,
The Cowsills,
Alice Coltrane,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Lucky Dragons, Lucky Dragons, Lucky Dragons, Lucky Dragons.
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.