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 Azerbaijan and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1969 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Chris Corsano to the grime kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Max Romeo. All the underground hits.
All Mandrill tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The American Breed record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 marimba and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terrestrial Tones,
Cluster,
Motorama,
CMW,
Ultra Naté,
Soft Cell,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Sight & Sound,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Zeros,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Dave Clark Five,
Minny Pops,
Andrew Hill,
Kas Product,
These Immortal Souls,
Bob Dylan,
Yusef Lateef,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Pole,
Bluetip,
Tubeway Army,
UT,
Pantaleimon,
Spandau Ballet,
The Toasters,
Black Bananas,
Traffic Nightmare,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Fortunes,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
R.M.O.,
Country Teasers,
Public Image Ltd.,
Fluxion,
Joey Negro,
The Gun Club,
Joy Division,
The Neon Judgement,
Neil Young,
Scientists,
Hot Snakes,
Yazoo,
Oneida,
Ice-T,
Can,
In Retrospect,
The American Breed,
Scan 7,
Black Moon,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Alice Coltrane,
Pierre Henry,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Smog,
The Slits,
Zapp,
Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail.
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.