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 Marshall Islands and from Copenhagen.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 The Mojo Men to the jazz kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Sun City Girls. All the underground hits.
All Scion tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Depeche Mode record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a linndrum 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 guitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sandy B,
Au Pairs,
Magma,
Electric Prunes,
Circle Jerks,
Cecil Taylor,
Groovy Waters,
Erykah Badu,
Funkadelic,
AZ,
Eve St. Jones,
Can,
The Trojans,
The Five Americans,
U.S. Maple,
the Fania All-Stars,
Slave,
Los Fastidios,
Icehouse,
The Red Krayola,
The Fugs,
These Immortal Souls,
Pharoah Sanders,
Marmalade,
Sonny Sharrock,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Skarface,
Infiniti,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Spoonie Gee,
The Angels of Light,
The Names,
Royal Trux,
Byron Stingily,
Scott Walker,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Arthur Verocai,
Man Parrish,
Steve Hackett,
Rapeman,
cv313,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Jacob Miller,
Skriet,
Joey Negro,
Joe Finger,
Crash Course in Science,
Flash Fearless,
Symarip,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Amazonics,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Dead C,
Kayak,
Average White Band,
The Birthday Party,
David Bowie,
The Mummies,
Cluster,
Mantronix,
The Shadows of Knight,
Marc Almond,
Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra.
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.