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 Saudi Arabia and from Houston.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Louis and Bebe Barron to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 A Flock of Seagulls. All the underground hits.
All Barrington Levy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Smoke record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Derrick May record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Y Pants,
Fluxion,
Tropical Tobacco,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Black Sheep,
Piero Umiliani,
Severed Heads,
Jerry's Kids,
Ludus,
EPMD,
Albert Ayler,
Visage,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Zapp,
MDC,
UT,
Section 25,
Mission of Burma,
B.T. Express,
Chris Corsano,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Monks,
Magma,
Byron Stingily,
New York Dolls,
Prince Buster,
Malaria!,
Maurizio,
Patti Smith,
Supertramp,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sex Pistols,
The Remains,
The Victims,
Ultravox,
The Offenders,
Q and Not U,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Jeru the Damaja,
Flipper,
Ultra Naté,
Bronski Beat,
Tubeway Army,
KRS-One,
Black Flag,
Wire,
Jacques Brel,
Aswad,
Lou Reed,
Au Pairs,
Smog,
Judy Mowatt,
The Music Machine,
Tommy Roe,
Rod Modell,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Janne Schatter,
Ken Boothe,
The Red Krayola,
The Fall,
The Moleskins,
The Star Department, The Star Department, The Star Department, The Star Department.
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.