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 Greece and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Neil Young & Crazy Horse to the punk 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 Bobby Womack. All the underground hits.
All Donald Byrd tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Theoretical Girls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suburban Knight record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Index,
Underground Resistance,
Nik Kershaw,
Crime,
Radio Birdman,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Dirtbombs,
Porter Ricks,
Yaz,
The New Christs,
K-Klass,
Tropical Tobacco,
Crooked Eye,
The Stooges,
Con Funk Shun,
Dave Gahan,
Frankie Knuckles,
Swell Maps,
Faust,
Y Pants,
Moss Icon,
Joy Division,
Eli Mardock,
Donny Hathaway,
H. Thieme,
Soulsonic Force,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Camberwell Now,
The American Breed,
Duran Duran,
DNA,
LL Cool J,
One Last Wish,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Offenders,
Eddi Front,
Todd Rundgren,
Jeff Lynne,
Goldenarms,
Gang Green,
David Bowie,
Ken Boothe,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
UT,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Flamin' Groovies,
Jacques Brel,
Guru Guru,
Iggy Pop,
Skriet,
Dual Sessions,
Audionom,
Model 500,
The Wake,
Qualms,
Soft Machine,
June Days,
Deakin, Deakin, Deakin, Deakin.
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.