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 Turkmenistan and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Delhi.
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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Eli Mardock to the techno 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 Isaac Hayes. All the underground hits.
All Mr. Review tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every World's Most record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 marimba and an arpeggiator 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 harpsichord and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suburban Knight,
Black Moon,
Clear Light,
Urselle,
Dark Day,
A Certain Ratio,
Barbara Tucker,
Icehouse,
Spoonie Gee,
R.M.O.,
Faraquet,
Marmalade,
Faust,
Skriet,
Deakin,
Soft Machine,
Johnny Clarke,
Tropical Tobacco,
Angry Samoans,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Moby Grape,
Cecil Taylor,
Suicide,
Pantytec,
The Flesh Eaters,
Moss Icon,
Ituana,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Amon Düül,
Stetsasonic,
Davy DMX,
Groovy Waters,
Intrusion,
The Cowsills,
Kayak,
MDC,
the Human League,
Bad Manners,
OOIOO,
Swans,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Sister Nancy,
The Smoke,
Model 500,
Qualms,
The Durutti Column,
Roxy Music,
Curtis Mayfield,
Main Source,
Chris Corsano,
Outsiders,
Soul II Soul,
Yaz,
Spandau Ballet,
Funkadelic,
Ronnie Foster,
Cluster,
Accadde A,
Wire, Wire, Wire, Wire.
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.