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 Venezuela and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 Manila and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Fort Wilson Riot to the funk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Radiopuhelimet. All the underground hits.
All Bang on a Can All-Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Blossom Toes 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Bananas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dave Gahan,
Marc Almond,
Todd Terry,
The Gap Band,
Crime,
Blancmange,
Inner City,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Fuzztones,
Jacques Brel,
Dorothy Ashby,
Jeru the Damaja,
Angry Samoans,
John Holt,
The Stooges,
Cameo,
Severed Heads,
a-ha,
Gang Gang Dance,
MDC,
the Association,
Grey Daturas,
Cymande,
Pagans,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Iggy Pop,
The Moleskins,
Ornette Coleman,
Harmonia,
Ossler,
Crooked Eye,
FM Einheit,
Black Bananas,
Wolf Eyes,
U.S. Maple,
Joe Finger,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Essential Logic,
Theoretical Girls,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Bill Near,
Black Sheep,
Tropical Tobacco,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Procol Harum,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Barbara Tucker,
Minnie Riperton,
James White and The Blacks,
Andrew Hill,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Raincoats,
Scratch Acid,
Lightning Bolt,
The Birthday Party,
Harpers Bizarre,
Sonic Youth,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Marcia Griffiths,
Los Fastidios,
The Residents,
Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic, Selector Dub Narcotic.
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.