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 Poland and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 mellotron 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 Man Parrish to the crunk 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 Patti Smith. All the underground hits.
All The Index tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Sonics 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Simply Red record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
H. Thieme,
Don Cherry,
The Martian,
Blake Baxter,
Rod Modell,
Lungfish,
Adolescents,
World's Most,
Avey Tare,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Judy Mowatt,
Minnie Riperton,
Aswad,
Cecil Taylor,
Pantytec,
The Victims,
Ralphi Rosario,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Deadbeat,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Faraquet,
Todd Terry,
This Heat,
L. Decosne,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Brand Nubian,
The Shadows of Knight,
Anakelly,
Sound Behaviour,
Black Bananas,
Eve St. Jones,
Danielle Patucci,
Au Pairs,
Pulsallama,
Sam Rivers,
Sixth Finger,
Amazonics,
Scientists,
John Holt,
Lebanon Hanover,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Dave Clark Five,
Dorothy Ashby,
Theoretical Girls,
Chris & Cosey,
Jerry's Kids,
Crispy Ambulance,
Bobby Womack,
Girls At Our Best!,
David Bowie,
Quadrant,
Lou Reed,
Yellowson,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Livin' Joy,
Pere Ubu,
Deakin,
Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun.
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.