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 Palau and from Bremen.
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 1967 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Harry Pussy to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Eyeless In Gaza. All the underground hits.
All the Fania All-Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang Gang Dance record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Interpol record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gabor Szabo,
The Tremeloes,
The Star Department,
Wasted Youth,
Marmalade,
Tommy Roe,
Mad Mike,
B.T. Express,
Sun Ra,
Fela Kuti,
Robert Görl,
The Techniques,
Black Moon,
Brothers Johnson,
UT,
Jesper Dahlback,
These Immortal Souls,
Marshall Jefferson,
Thompson Twins,
A Certain Ratio,
The Martian,
Clear Light,
Khruangbin,
Roxette,
Quantec,
Delta 5,
Charles Mingus,
Nils Olav,
Tears for Fears,
Duran Duran,
K-Klass,
Qualms,
Scion,
Agent Orange,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Smiths,
Rapeman,
Thee Headcoats,
the Fania All-Stars,
Faust,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
the Association,
Bill Wells,
Altered Images,
Au Pairs,
Excepter,
Al Stewart,
David Bowie,
Nik Kershaw,
Agitation Free,
Tropical Tobacco,
Alison Limerick,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The American Breed,
Sexual Harrassment,
John Cale,
The Blues Magoos,
Man Eating Sloth,
Pagans,
Procol Harum,
Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon.
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.