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 Paraguay and from Accra.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 arpeggiator 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 Bang on a Can All-Stars to the grime kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Sam Rivers. All the underground hits.
All Television Personalities tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every B.T. Express 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a kango's stein massive record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
This Heat,
The Birthday Party,
Blake Baxter,
Rosa Yemen,
The Standells,
The Grass Roots,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Severed Heads,
John Lydon,
The Searchers,
Eve St. Jones,
Smog,
Echospace,
Fela Kuti,
Main Source,
Marc Almond,
Absolute Body Control,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Cameo,
Das Ding,
Spoonie Gee,
Marvin Gaye,
Hot Snakes,
Unrelated Segments,
Hasil Adkins,
Radiopuhelimet,
Sällskapet,
Magazine,
The Seeds,
Subhumans,
Lucky Dragons,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Jerry's Kids,
Wire,
Joyce Sims,
Judy Mowatt,
Stetsasonic,
DJ Sneak,
Mad Mike,
The Martian,
Nico,
Donald Byrd,
The Flesh Eaters,
Bang On A Can,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Tropical Tobacco,
Harry Pussy,
The Angels of Light,
Jawbox,
Japan,
Grandmaster Flash,
Davy DMX,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Mary Jane Girls,
Colin Newman,
Black Moon,
Gichy Dan,
Pierre Henry,
the Germs,
Man Eating Sloth, Man Eating Sloth, Man Eating Sloth, Man Eating Sloth.
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.