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 Uganda and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 808 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 The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band 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 Blake Baxter. All the underground hits.
All The Gap Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roy Ayers 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a mellotron 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 güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Prince Buster,
The Detroit Cobras,
Liliput,
These Immortal Souls,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Panda Bear,
Nik Kershaw,
Tommy Roe,
Derrick May,
Gang of Four,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Quantec,
The Music Machine,
Deadbeat,
Banda Bassotti,
Pylon,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Siglo XX,
Kayak,
Bill Wells,
Niagra,
The Pretty Things,
Colin Newman,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Victims,
Bush Tetras,
Minny Pops,
Hardrive,
Ken Boothe,
Average White Band,
Carl Craig,
Janne Schatter,
Robert Wyatt,
Henry Cow,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
James White and The Blacks,
Con Funk Shun,
Sun City Girls,
Bad Manners,
K-Klass,
Babytalk,
Neu!,
Don Cherry,
Soulsonic Force,
Guru Guru,
The Seeds,
Dual Sessions,
The Gladiators,
Pole,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Amazonics,
Television Personalities,
Yaz,
Royal Trux,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Motions,
Terry Callier,
Nation of Ulysses,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Jacques Brel,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Golliwogs,
Khruangbin,
The Moody Blues, The Moody Blues, The Moody Blues, The Moody Blues.
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.