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 East Timor and from Glasgow.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 Holger Czukay 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 Oneida to the techno kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Bob Dylan. All the underground hits.
All Isaac Hayes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Terror Squad Feat. Camron record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rekid record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Khruangbin,
48th St. Collective,
Moebius,
The Leaves,
Loose Ends,
The Residents,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Mojo Men,
Colin Newman,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Brothers Johnson,
The Martian,
Byron Stingily,
Metal Thangz,
Man Parrish,
The Invisible,
X-Ray Spex,
Sparks,
Sam Rivers,
The Beau Brummels,
Rites of Spring,
Piero Umiliani,
Tommy Roe,
Scott Walker,
Youth Brigade,
The Mummies,
Subhumans,
The Offenders,
Radio Birdman,
John Coltrane,
Frankie Knuckles,
Crispian St. Peters,
Crooked Eye,
Goldenarms,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Minutemen,
Hoover,
Yellowson,
Man Eating Sloth,
AZ,
Gabor Szabo,
Tim Buckley,
Gang Starr,
Interpol,
Alton Ellis,
8 Eyed Spy,
Shuggie Otis,
Mary Jane Girls,
A Certain Ratio,
Black Flag,
Grandmaster Flash,
Lalo Schifrin,
Bill Near,
The Last Poets,
Motorama,
Drive Like Jehu,
Cameo,
K-Klass,
The Skatalites,
Joe Finger,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Organ,
Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya.
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.