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 Czech Republic and from Jakarta.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Glasgow.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ 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 The Red Krayola to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Loose Ends. All the underground hits.
All Gong tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The United States of America record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James White and The Blacks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
June of 44,
Kerri Chandler,
Ultimate Spinach,
Silicon Teens,
Unwound,
Pierre Henry,
Matthew Bourne,
Darondo,
Pussy Galore,
Masters at Work,
Patti Smith,
Wolf Eyes,
Ronan,
Jawbox,
The Fuzztones,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Bill Wells,
Faraquet,
Fad Gadget,
This Heat,
Gastr Del Sol,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Rhythm & Sound,
Joyce Sims,
Trumans Water,
Organ,
The Seeds,
DNA,
World's Most,
Mars,
Quadrant,
Ash Ra Tempel,
cv313,
Gang Green,
The Modern Lovers,
Hardrive,
ABBA,
Junior Murvin,
Rakim,
Maurizio,
Faust,
The Monks,
Hashim,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Mantronix,
Lou Christie,
The Durutti Column,
Second Layer,
The Pretty Things,
Brand Nubian,
The Divine Comedy,
Black Pus,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Swans,
New Age Steppers,
Black Moon,
The Leaves,
Robert Wyatt,
Howard Jones,
Panda Bear,
The Fall,
Graham Central Station,
The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters.
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.