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 Ivory Coast and from Jakarta.
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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Lou Reed & Metallica to the techno 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 Eve St. Jones. All the underground hits.
All Tom Boy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The United States of America record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sam Rivers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Al Stewart,
Letta Mbulu,
Maleditus Sound,
the Swans,
The Dead C,
Babytalk,
Cameo,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Kenny Larkin,
Wally Richardson,
Groovy Waters,
The Slackers,
Cecil Taylor,
Deadbeat,
Aloha Tigers,
The Barracudas,
Quadrant,
MDC,
Subhumans,
Joy Division,
Patti Smith,
Henry Cow,
Traffic Nightmare,
Oblivians,
James White and The Blacks,
The Five Americans,
Nick Fraelich,
Gregory Isaacs,
Howard Jones,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Idris Muhammad,
Hardrive,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Fuzztones,
Kevin Saunderson,
Marvin Gaye,
ABC,
Minutemen,
Marshall Jefferson,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Remains,
Max Romeo,
Von Mondo,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
John Cale,
the Fania All-Stars,
Throbbing Gristle,
Boredoms,
Graham Central Station,
Public Enemy,
Pussy Galore,
Yaz,
Lyres,
Terry Callier,
Y Pants,
Robert Wyatt,
John Holt,
Ornette Coleman,
Stetsasonic,
FM Einheit,
Erasure,
Brothers Johnson, Brothers Johnson, Brothers Johnson, Brothers Johnson.
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.