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 Kiribati and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Taipei.
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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Depeche Mode to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth. All the underground hits.
All Sly & The Family Stone tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Modern Lovers 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a marimba 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 arpeggiator and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cymande,
Quantec,
Electric Prunes,
DJ Style,
World's Most,
Ornette Coleman,
John Foxx,
Warsaw,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Moby Grape,
Black Moon,
T. Rex,
The Dirtbombs,
Gang Starr,
X-101,
Drive Like Jehu,
48th St. Collective,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Ralphi Rosario,
Young Marble Giants,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Standells,
The Wake,
Kayak,
Marc Almond,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Juan Atkins,
The Smoke,
Bluetip,
The Cramps,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Jandek,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Soft Cell,
Idris Muhammad,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Index,
Lungfish,
John Cale,
New York Dolls,
Cluster,
The Walker Brothers,
Henry Cow,
Basic Channel,
Johnny Osbourne,
Mandrill,
Groovy Waters,
Ten City,
Aswad,
Black Sheep,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Model 500,
Audionom,
Ultra Naté,
Flipper,
The Cure,
Delta 5,
James White and The Blacks,
The Red Krayola,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Desert Stars,
Bobby Womack,
The Black Dice,
The Golliwogs, The Golliwogs, The Golliwogs, The Golliwogs.
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.