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 Taiwan and from Salvador.
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 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Red Lorry Yellow Lorry to the funk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Lou Reed. All the underground hits.
All Idris Muhammad tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Angry Samoans record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 snare 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 rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Tremeloes,
Deakin,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Hoover,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Public Enemy,
Absolute Body Control,
John Foxx,
Moebius,
Sparks,
Das Ding,
The American Breed,
the Normal,
B.T. Express,
Motorama,
Oneida,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Swell Maps,
Fluxion,
Camberwell Now,
Nik Kershaw,
John Cale,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Five Americans,
Groovy Waters,
Bill Near,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Angels of Light,
Slick Rick,
Cluster,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Dawn Penn,
The Velvet Underground,
Archie Shepp,
Brothers Johnson,
D'Angelo,
The Toasters,
Kas Product,
Amazonics,
Pylon,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Duran Duran,
Ludus,
The Beau Brummels,
The Trojans,
Godley & Creme,
Wasted Youth,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The New Christs,
Barry Ungar,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Mandrill,
L. Decosne,
Dual Sessions,
The Fugs,
Los Fastidios,
Bootsy's Rubber Band, Bootsy's Rubber Band, Bootsy's Rubber Band, Bootsy's Rubber 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.