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 Canada and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Chris Corsano to the dance kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Ultra Naté tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Man Eating Sloth record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 an arpeggiator and a mellotron 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 marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sarah Menescal,
MDC,
Pulsallama,
Pole,
Clear Light,
Jeru the Damaja,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Spandau Ballet,
Fear,
Pussy Galore,
The Names,
The Mojo Men,
Flash Fearless,
K-Klass,
Young Marble Giants,
Anakelly,
Johnny Clarke,
Pet Shop Boys,
Blossom Toes,
Infiniti,
Monolake,
Sound Behaviour,
Kaleidoscope,
A Certain Ratio,
Ornette Coleman,
Bobby Womack,
Don Cherry,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Tres Demented,
The Divine Comedy,
Michelle Simonal,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Fatback Band,
The Monks,
Faraquet,
Deakin,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Amon Düül,
Nico,
Stiv Bators,
Yaz,
Soul Sonic Force,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Dorothy Ashby,
Derrick Morgan,
Trumans Water,
Lalann,
Visage,
Ultra Naté,
Joe Finger,
Pharoah Sanders,
Fifty Foot Hose,
R.M.O.,
Dennis Brown,
Girls At Our Best!,
Neil Young,
Livin' Joy,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Big Daddy Kane,
Marmalade,
8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy.
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.