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 Czech Republic and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Tropical Tobacco to the dance kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 The Royal Family And The Poor. All the underground hits.
All Bad Manners tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hot Snakes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a rhodes 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 mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Metal Thangz,
Gerry Rafferty,
EPMD,
Sister Nancy,
Alice Coltrane,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Bluetip,
Gil Scott Heron,
Gang of Four,
Funky Four + One,
Livin' Joy,
Johnny Osbourne,
Todd Terry,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Searchers,
Steve Hackett,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Thee Headcoats,
Soul II Soul,
Andrew Hill,
Marine Girls,
Ludus,
Marcia Griffiths,
Robert Wyatt,
Swans,
Wolf Eyes,
The Buckinghams,
Scratch Acid,
Tres Demented,
K-Klass,
Clear Light,
The Vogues,
Urselle,
The Young Rascals,
OOIOO,
Radio Birdman,
The Kinks,
Junior Murvin,
Jeru the Damaja,
Eric Copeland,
The Real Kids,
Archie Shepp,
The Angels of Light,
Sun Ra,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Dave Gahan,
Amazonics,
Organ,
The Grass Roots,
The Martian,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
cv313,
In Retrospect,
Dark Day,
Ice-T,
The Dead C,
Unwound,
Joe Finger,
The Invisible,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band, Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band, Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band, Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band.
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.