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 Egypt and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Monolake to the grunge 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 Juan Atkins. All the underground hits.
All Blancmange tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Boogie Down Productions 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord 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 mellotron and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rites of Spring,
The Cramps,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Leaves,
Fat Boys,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Quadrant,
Au Pairs,
Soft Cell,
Duran Duran,
Harpers Bizarre,
Joey Negro,
The New Christs,
The Shadows of Knight,
the Slits,
Don Cherry,
Girls At Our Best!,
Rapeman,
Marmalade,
Yaz,
Symarip,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Connie Case,
John Holt,
Little Man,
Erasure,
Marc Almond,
The Fire Engines,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Monks,
Yellowson,
Nik Kershaw,
Anthony Braxton,
Television Personalities,
Delon & Dalcan,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Music Machine,
Clear Light,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Dawn Penn,
EPMD,
Matthew Halsall,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Letta Mbulu,
The Velvet Underground,
The Slits,
David Bowie,
Barbara Tucker,
Desert Stars,
DNA,
Sun City Girls,
Grandmaster Flash,
Godley & Creme,
The Remains,
Goldenarms,
Fugazi,
Cecil Taylor,
Eli Mardock,
Jesper Dahlback,
Gil Scott Heron,
Public Image Ltd.,
Juan Atkins,
Stereo Dub,
Stiv Bators, Stiv Bators, Stiv Bators, Stiv Bators.
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.