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 Tanzania and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 spring reverb 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 Cybotron to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Magazine. All the underground hits.
All Nick Fraelich tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cymande record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 an oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Y Pants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
One Last Wish,
Adolescents,
Bill Wells,
The Busters,
Silicon Teens,
Cheater Slicks,
The Detroit Cobras,
L. Decosne,
Tears for Fears,
Au Pairs,
Lindisfarne,
Tres Demented,
The United States of America,
Magma,
Clear Light,
Morten Harket,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Model 500,
Sight & Sound,
Robert Hood,
David Axelrod,
Fugazi,
The Beau Brummels,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Toasters,
Funky Four + One,
Cal Tjader,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Mars,
New Order,
Procol Harum,
Pantytec,
The Cure,
Black Moon,
Darondo,
The Gories,
Nico,
Anakelly,
Rapeman,
The Remains,
Essential Logic,
The Motions,
Eve St. Jones,
Echospace,
Slave,
Jimmy McGriff,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
MC5,
Television,
The Sound,
The Real Kids,
Kayak,
James White and The Blacks,
Intrusion,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Marine Girls,
The Searchers,
Gang Gang Dance, Gang Gang Dance, Gang Gang Dance, Gang Gang Dance.
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.