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 Tunisia and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Lagos.
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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Unwound to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Frankie Knuckles. All the underground hits.
All Cybotron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soft Machine record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Evens record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Monks,
John Lydon,
Black Moon,
The Cramps,
The Selecter,
Arab on Radar,
Camouflage,
Monks,
Bill Wells,
Marc Almond,
June of 44,
Avey Tare,
Bush Tetras,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Ornette Coleman,
Bob Dylan,
Pet Shop Boys,
The J.B.'s,
Heaven 17,
Barclay James Harvest,
D'Angelo,
Spoonie Gee,
Siglo XX,
Byron Stingily,
These Immortal Souls,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Prince Buster,
Vladislav Delay,
Icehouse,
Nils Olav,
Ken Boothe,
Ohio Players,
The Mojo Men,
Barrington Levy,
Blake Baxter,
Pere Ubu,
ABC,
Amazonics,
48th St. Collective,
Nick Fraelich,
Urselle,
K-Klass,
The Last Poets,
Supertramp,
the Normal,
Brick,
Rapeman,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Todd Terry,
Kerri Chandler,
Subhumans,
Radio Birdman,
The Shadows of Knight,
Ronan,
Isaac Hayes,
The Skatalites,
June Days,
Tears for Fears,
Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco, Tropical Tobacco.
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.