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 Syria and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Lille.
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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Ronnie Foster 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 New York Dolls. All the underground hits.
All Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Offenders record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a güiro 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 spring reverb and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cybotron,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Mr. Review,
Jandek,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Parry Music,
The Fugs,
Minnie Riperton,
Henry Cow,
The Kinks,
Grauzone,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Angels of Light,
Archie Shepp,
the Normal,
Brothers Johnson,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Boredoms,
Sexual Harrassment,
Big Daddy Kane,
Zapp,
8 Eyed Spy,
the Swans,
H. Thieme,
Laurel Aitken,
Pierre Henry,
Black Flag,
Can,
Livin' Joy,
Aaron Thompson,
The Cowsills,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Skarface,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Tres Demented,
Pussy Galore,
The Barracudas,
the Human League,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Bauhaus,
Lalo Schifrin,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Gabor Szabo,
K-Klass,
Audionom,
Robert Hood,
Babytalk,
Nils Olav,
The Misunderstood,
Crooked Eye,
Steve Hackett,
Toni Rubio,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Raincoats,
Sex Pistols,
Dead Boys,
Nik Kershaw,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Mo-Dettes,
John Coltrane,
Pharoah Sanders,
Scrapy,
Yazoo, Yazoo, Yazoo, Yazoo.
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.