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 Sierra Leone and from Columbus.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Lightning Bolt to the rap 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 DeepChord presents Echospace. All the underground hits.
All Jacques Brel tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Reed 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Altered Images record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Procol Harum,
Soft Machine,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Motions,
Moby Grape,
F. McDonald,
The Buckinghams,
Ken Boothe,
Spandau Ballet,
Ludus,
Panda Bear,
The Neon Judgement,
Electric Prunes,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Cowsills,
Deadbeat,
Skriet,
Public Image Ltd.,
Mandrill,
Parry Music,
Camberwell Now,
Pulsallama,
Reagan Youth,
Zero Boys,
The Modern Lovers,
Stereo Dub,
The Barracudas,
Junior Murvin,
Swans,
Man Parrish,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Kinks,
Black Sheep,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Graham Central Station,
Quando Quango,
Slick Rick,
John Holt,
Monolake,
Amazonics,
The Trojans,
The Detroit Cobras,
Television Personalities,
Todd Terry,
Mars,
Roxy Music,
The Standells,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Stooges,
Marine Girls,
Echospace,
Aural Exciters,
Big Daddy Kane,
Aloha Tigers,
The Seeds,
The Names,
Albert Ayler,
Accadde A,
Babytalk,
Ultimate Spinach,
Minutemen,
John Coltrane,
Groovy Waters, Groovy Waters, Groovy Waters, Groovy Waters.
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.