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 Nauru and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Red Lorry Yellow Lorry to the punk 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 The Barracudas. All the underground hits.
All Dark Day tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Quantec 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a spring reverb 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 chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Soulsonic Force,
Khruangbin,
The Birthday Party,
T. Rex,
Danielle Patucci,
Anakelly,
8 Eyed Spy,
Kerrie Biddell,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Walker Brothers,
Dawn Penn,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Lou Reed,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Saints,
This Heat,
Piero Umiliani,
Barbara Tucker,
Quando Quango,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Ossler,
L. Decosne,
Sexual Harrassment,
Harry Pussy,
Delon & Dalcan,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Mojo Men,
Flash Fearless,
Derrick May,
Nico,
X-Ray Spex,
Talk Talk,
June of 44,
Jesper Dahlback,
Hot Snakes,
Erasure,
Agitation Free,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Dual Sessions,
The Fall,
Skriet,
Pole,
Babytalk,
Procol Harum,
Fatback Band,
Rhythm & Sound,
Sugar Minott,
Rites of Spring,
The Barracudas,
Sun City Girls,
the Germs,
The Music Machine,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Skarface,
The Black Dice,
Girls At Our Best!,
Maleditus Sound,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Hardrive,
The Divine Comedy,
Aswad,
Ronan,
Index,
Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia.
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.