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 Korea North and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Ultra Naté to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282. All the underground hits.
All The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tom Boy 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 sitar and a rhodes 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 rhodes and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wings,
Procol Harum,
Oblivians,
Gregory Isaacs,
Parry Music,
Cybotron,
Mark Hollis,
Susan Cadogan,
Soul II Soul,
Henry Cow,
Lungfish,
Amon Düül II,
Lou Reed,
Fad Gadget,
The Dead C,
Warren Ellis,
Main Source,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Sound Behaviour,
Alice Coltrane,
Newcleus,
Thee Headcoats,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Ponytail,
Nation of Ulysses,
Minor Threat,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Zeros,
Interpol,
Radio Birdman,
Gichy Dan,
Electric Light Orchestra,
John Lydon,
Easy Going,
Gang Green,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Wasted Youth,
Peter and Kerry,
Aural Exciters,
Joe Finger,
Fat Boys,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Associates,
Minutemen,
Tim Buckley,
A Certain Ratio,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Prince Buster,
Duran Duran,
Trumans Water,
Brick,
Aswad,
Tom Boy,
Index,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Terrestrial Tones,
Surgeon,
Eden Ahbez,
DJ Sneak,
Ohio Players,
The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs.
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.