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 Paraguay and from Accra.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon to the grime kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Babytalk. All the underground hits.
All Lizzy Mercier Descloux tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Johnny Clarke 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a mellotron 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 güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eli Mardock,
Au Pairs,
Bobby Byrd,
The Smiths,
Ituana,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Crime,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Underground Resistance,
Pulsallama,
Ultimate Spinach,
Con Funk Shun,
Maleditus Sound,
June of 44,
The Dave Clark Five,
DNA,
The Dirtbombs,
Stetsasonic,
Pussy Galore,
Roxette,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Eden Ahbez,
Livin' Joy,
Toni Rubio,
Cybotron,
Wolf Eyes,
Robert Görl,
Theoretical Girls,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Black Pus,
The Pop Group,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Swans,
Barry Ungar,
Visage,
Make Up,
Bill Near,
Skarface,
Kas Product,
Steve Hackett,
Lakeside,
Massinfluence,
The Slits,
Roy Ayers,
the Association,
Grey Daturas,
Blossom Toes,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
the Swans,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Average White Band,
Mark Hollis,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Minutemen,
Nico,
Avey Tare,
The Alarm Clocks,
Crooked Eye,
Urselle,
Mandrill,
Gang Green,
Monks, Monks, Monks, Monks.
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.