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 Uzbekistan and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the 808 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 Flesh Eaters to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 The Five Americans. All the underground hits.
All Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every X-101 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 mellotron and a harpsichord 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 synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Amazonics,
Faust,
The Monks,
Lyres,
Ronan,
Lucky Dragons,
The Fugs,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Wire,
The Index,
Eden Ahbez,
Banda Bassotti,
The Misunderstood,
Joyce Sims,
Alton Ellis,
the Bar-Kays,
Ohio Players,
Radio Birdman,
CMW,
Yazoo,
Tim Buckley,
Accadde A,
Outsiders,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Liliput,
AZ,
Rapeman,
Saccharine Trust,
The Leaves,
Eve St. Jones,
Black Bananas,
The Human League,
Brand Nubian,
The Modern Lovers,
Severed Heads,
The Beau Brummels,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
T. Rex,
Warsaw,
The Dirtbombs,
Skriet,
The Red Krayola,
Peter & Gordon,
Nirvana,
One Last Wish,
Radiohead,
Rosa Yemen,
Sun Ra,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
the Normal,
Drive Like Jehu,
Television,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Marshall Jefferson,
Brothers Johnson,
Stockholm Monsters,
Hashim,
Lebanon Hanover,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Ituana, Ituana, Ituana, Ituana.
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.