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 Togo and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 the Slits to the rap 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 Flamin' Groovies. All the underground hits.
All Major Organ And The Adding Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pantytec 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bang On A Can record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
World's Most,
Cheater Slicks,
The Selecter,
Grey Daturas,
The Red Krayola,
Avey Tare,
the Swans,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Flipper,
The Motions,
Gabor Szabo,
Dead Boys,
Little Man,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Rapeman,
Ultimate Spinach,
Crispy Ambulance,
Bluetip,
Tim Buckley,
The Flesh Eaters,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Tubeway Army,
Section 25,
Masters at Work,
Qualms,
Robert Hood,
Alton Ellis,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Whodini,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Aural Exciters,
Faust,
Amon Düül,
Massinfluence,
Zapp,
Sun City Girls,
Pet Shop Boys,
L. Decosne,
Shoche,
Ossler,
Howard Jones,
E-Dancer,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Index,
Trumans Water,
Mary Jane Girls,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
R.M.O.,
Dave Gahan,
Nas,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Todd Rundgren,
Lucky Dragons,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Bizarre Inc.,
Slave,
Los Fastidios,
the Sonics,
Black Moon,
Theoretical Girls,
Television,
Clear Light, Clear Light, Clear Light, Clear Light.
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.