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 Romania and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 harpsichord 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 Soft Machine to the grunge 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 Art Ensemble Of Chicago. All the underground hits.
All E-Dancer tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bauhaus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Faraquet record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Magma,
Black Bananas,
Quadrant,
Nirvana,
Hoover,
Letta Mbulu,
Royal Trux,
Scrapy,
Fat Boys,
Symarip,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Urselle,
Q65,
Throbbing Gristle,
Cheater Slicks,
Bobby Sherman,
The Five Americans,
Absolute Body Control,
Gregory Isaacs,
David Bowie,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Sarah Menescal,
John Coltrane,
Shoche,
Lebanon Hanover,
Crash Course in Science,
Pere Ubu,
Gang of Four,
Stiv Bators,
T.S.O.L.,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Cal Tjader,
Boredoms,
The Leaves,
Jimmy McGriff,
FM Einheit,
Gong,
Pantaleimon,
Soulsonic Force,
Colin Newman,
The Gun Club,
Jawbox,
Rapeman,
Slave,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Brass Construction,
Yazoo,
The Residents,
Donald Byrd,
Guru Guru,
Black Pus,
Morten Harket,
Ultravox,
Eurythmics,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Anthony Braxton,
Young Marble Giants,
New Age Steppers,
Oneida,
Altered Images,
Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig.
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.