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 Kiribati and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Walker Brothers to the techno kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Joe Finger. All the underground hits.
All Brand Nubian tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sad Lovers and Giants record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bang on a Can All-Stars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Amazonics,
Minnie Riperton,
Graham Central Station,
The Doobie Brothers,
Easy Going,
Traffic Nightmare,
Bob Dylan,
Basic Channel,
The Fall,
Suicide,
Shoche,
The Beau Brummels,
Pagans,
Animal Collective,
Eve St. Jones,
B.T. Express,
Schoolly D,
48th St. Collective,
Warsaw,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Move,
CMW,
Crime,
The Birthday Party,
The Fortunes,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Human League,
Rapeman,
The Wake,
The Fugs,
Amon Düül,
Duran Duran,
Panda Bear,
Dennis Brown,
Pierre Henry,
Dead Boys,
D'Angelo,
LL Cool J,
Kayak,
Fluxion,
Danielle Patucci,
Lyres,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Slits,
Interpol,
Mr. Review,
Bush Tetras,
Todd Rundgren,
The Evens,
Camouflage,
Scientists,
Arab on Radar,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Fuzztones,
World's Most,
Laurel Aitken,
The Trojans,
The Doors,
The Cowsills,
Blossom Toes,
Aswad,
Soft Machine,
Second Layer,
David Bowie,
Marshall Jefferson, Marshall Jefferson, Marshall Jefferson, Marshall Jefferson.
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.