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 Chad and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Litter to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Charles Mingus. All the underground hits.
All Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Maleditus Sound 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 chamberlin and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 48th St. Collective record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lightning Bolt,
The Saints,
Bush Tetras,
Sandy B,
The Velvet Underground,
Yaz,
the Association,
Radiopuhelimet,
Alison Limerick,
the Swans,
kango's stein massive,
Danielle Patucci,
Alton Ellis,
John Lydon,
Prince Buster,
Curtis Mayfield,
Carl Craig,
Black Flag,
Wasted Youth,
Rekid,
Ohio Players,
Von Mondo,
Tubeway Army,
The Dave Clark Five,
Television Personalities,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Minutemen,
Susan Cadogan,
Godley & Creme,
Cluster,
E-Dancer,
Nirvana,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Marshall Jefferson,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Kool Moe Dee,
Nas,
Maleditus Sound,
Chris Corsano,
Donald Byrd,
Unwound,
EPMD,
Eric B and Rakim,
James White and The Blacks,
Public Enemy,
Nik Kershaw,
Scratch Acid,
Harmonia,
Niagra,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Sun City Girls,
48th St. Collective,
Deakin,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Grandmaster Flash,
Scan 7,
The Slits,
The Real Kids,
10cc,
Fad Gadget,
Eddi Front, Eddi Front, Eddi Front, Eddi Front.
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.