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 United Kingdom and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Jeff Mills to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Moebius. All the underground hits.
All The Mojo Men tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sister Nancy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a spring reverb 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 snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Spandau Ballet,
Lucky Dragons,
Drexciya,
Barrington Levy,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Soul Sonic Force,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
cv313,
Y Pants,
Bobby Sherman,
Gregory Isaacs,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Angels of Light,
Albert Ayler,
The New Christs,
The Golliwogs,
Infiniti,
Outsiders,
Aloha Tigers,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Gun Club,
The Smiths,
Max Romeo,
These Immortal Souls,
June of 44,
Thompson Twins,
Eric Dolphy,
Amon Düül II,
This Heat,
Flash Fearless,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Model 500,
Anthony Braxton,
David McCallum,
T.S.O.L.,
Los Fastidios,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Jeff Mills,
Laurel Aitken,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Moody Blues,
Bob Dylan,
Tropical Tobacco,
Dark Day,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Shoche,
A Certain Ratio,
Index,
Deepchord,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Fluxion,
Monolake,
Franke,
Ronnie Foster,
Interpol,
Derrick May,
Man Parrish,
The American Breed,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft, Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft, Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft, Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft.
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.