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 Mauritania and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Bang on a Can All-Stars to the punk 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 Fad Gadget. All the underground hits.
All Bang on a Can All-Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Television record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Golliwogs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Masters at Work,
T. Rex,
Infiniti,
Matthew Bourne,
Idris Muhammad,
Ken Boothe,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Dawn Penn,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Eric Copeland,
Amon Düül II,
U.S. Maple,
Anakelly,
Soft Cell,
Camouflage,
The Cure,
Banda Bassotti,
Throbbing Gristle,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Ronnie Foster,
Danielle Patucci,
Ultravox,
Juan Atkins,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Walker Brothers,
The Raincoats,
Dead Boys,
Quando Quango,
The Doobie Brothers,
Tomorrow,
Janne Schatter,
Scott Walker,
John Holt,
The Modern Lovers,
the Normal,
Rotary Connection,
Mr. Review,
Wire,
Roger Hodgson,
Drive Like Jehu,
Harpers Bizarre,
Blake Baxter,
Whodini,
The Blues Magoos,
Man Parrish,
Deepchord,
The Pop Group,
Jeff Lynne,
Nico,
Suburban Knight,
kango's stein massive,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Beau Brummels,
Howard Jones,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Mandrill,
Rites of Spring,
Roy Ayers,
Neu!,
Black Pus,
Fad Gadget,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.