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 Laos and from Tehran.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba 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 Brothers Johnson to the funk 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 Tubeway Army. All the underground hits.
All Bang on a Can All-Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pole 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Magazine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sandy B,
The Black Dice,
Howard Jones,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Gang Green,
Lebanon Hanover,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Mission of Burma,
Wally Richardson,
Steve Hackett,
Eve St. Jones,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Tom Boy,
Prince Buster,
Rites of Spring,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Fela Kuti,
Scion,
Godley & Creme,
X-102,
Jawbox,
Moss Icon,
Harpers Bizarre,
Bill Near,
Cal Tjader,
Yellowson,
Sun Ra,
Scratch Acid,
AZ,
Blake Baxter,
The Searchers,
Average White Band,
Radiopuhelimet,
Marine Girls,
Liliput,
Joe Finger,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Ossler,
U.S. Maple,
Flamin' Groovies,
Faust,
Q and Not U,
Rakim,
Crash Course in Science,
Mars,
Colin Newman,
The J.B.'s,
The Smiths,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Rod Modell,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
The Blues Magoos,
Charles Mingus,
The Selecter,
The Golliwogs,
Aswad,
Sound Behaviour,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Remains,
The Skatalites,
Eddi Front,
Mantronix,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Sly & The Family Stone, Sly & The Family Stone, Sly & The Family Stone, Sly & The Family Stone.
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.