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 Samoa and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the güiro 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 Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane to the funk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 The Names. All the underground hits.
All The Searchers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fugazi record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 an arpeggiator and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Angels of Light record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Durutti Column,
Iggy Pop,
The Blues Magoos,
Faust,
Prince Buster,
Robert Hood,
Sandy B,
DNA,
Sex Pistols,
Sixth Finger,
Procol Harum,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Lou Reed,
Gichy Dan,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Slackers,
Camouflage,
The Smoke,
Toni Rubio,
Oblivians,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Buzzcocks,
Audionom,
UT,
Rosa Yemen,
Bobby Byrd,
Danielle Patucci,
The Selecter,
Outsiders,
Lindisfarne,
Kerri Chandler,
Moebius,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Fat Boys,
Minor Threat,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
EPMD,
Bill Wells,
Urselle,
Arab on Radar,
Sam Rivers,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Wolf Eyes,
Drexciya,
Popol Vuh,
The Buckinghams,
The Pretty Things,
The Cure,
Surgeon,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Dorothy Ashby,
Unwound,
10cc,
Liliput,
The Fortunes,
the Swans, the Swans, the Swans, the Swans.
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.