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 Somalia and from Sao Paulo.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the oboe 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 H. Thieme. All the underground hits.
All Motorama tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barry Ungar record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 a sitar and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Wake record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Depeche Mode,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Alice Coltrane,
Anakelly,
Dorothy Ashby,
Cheater Slicks,
Audionom,
Kool Moe Dee,
Panda Bear,
The Blues Magoos,
The Zeros,
Bootsy Collins,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Sam Rivers,
Y Pants,
Aural Exciters,
The Motions,
Smog,
Gabor Szabo,
Banda Bassotti,
The Tremeloes,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Sister Nancy,
Janne Schatter,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Radio Birdman,
Section 25,
the Normal,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Walker Brothers,
Tomorrow,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Blancmange,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Detroit Cobras,
Black Pus,
Cameo,
John Cale,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
James White and The Blacks,
Bluetip,
Deadbeat,
ABC,
Skarface,
Talk Talk,
Barbara Tucker,
Pet Shop Boys,
Jeff Lynne,
Mr. Review,
JFA,
Matthew Halsall,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Massinfluence,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Essential Logic,
Dual Sessions,
Blossom Toes,
The Selecter, The Selecter, The Selecter, The Selecter.
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.