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 Sweden and from Tehran.
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 Copenhagen and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Goldenarms to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 June Days. All the underground hits.
All Wally Richardson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arcadia 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Grass Roots,
Jacques Brel,
Marc Almond,
Average White Band,
Man Eating Sloth,
Sex Pistols,
Lungfish,
The Human League,
JFA,
The Cramps,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Mummies,
Mantronix,
Symarip,
Cal Tjader,
Grandmaster Flash,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Fluxion,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Glambeats Corp.,
the Fania All-Stars,
B.T. Express,
Khruangbin,
Rosa Yemen,
Gang Gang Dance,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Underground Resistance,
Black Flag,
The Walker Brothers,
Eddi Front,
The Remains,
Matthew Halsall,
Wally Richardson,
DJ Sneak,
Public Image Ltd.,
Lower 48,
Fatback Band,
Massinfluence,
Marvin Gaye,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Crash Course in Science,
Flash Fearless,
Curtis Mayfield,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Bluetip,
The Red Krayola,
Maleditus Sound,
Dark Day,
Mo-Dettes,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Royal Trux,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Surgeon,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Goldenarms,
Lindisfarne,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Rod Modell,
Soft Machine,
K-Klass, K-Klass, K-Klass, K-Klass.
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.