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 New Zealand and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba 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 Fela Kuti 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 Man Parrish. All the underground hits.
All Trumans Water tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Siouxsie and the Banshees record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Strawberry Alarm Clock record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum 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?
The Sisters of Mercy,
Porter Ricks,
Howard Jones,
Lalann,
Deadbeat,
H. Thieme,
Kerri Chandler,
Stockholm Monsters,
Visage,
Danielle Patucci,
Brass Construction,
Theoretical Girls,
The Dirtbombs,
New York Dolls,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Harry Pussy,
Lou Reed,
The Real Kids,
Little Man,
Archie Shepp,
Alphaville,
Scratch Acid,
Babytalk,
Bobby Byrd,
U.S. Maple,
The Divine Comedy,
Fat Boys,
Flipper,
Rapeman,
Metal Thangz,
The Blackbyrds,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Scott Walker,
Mary Jane Girls,
Lebanon Hanover,
the Swans,
Grey Daturas,
Tommy Roe,
The Black Dice,
Camberwell Now,
Ultravox,
Public Enemy,
T. Rex,
London Community Gospel Choir,
DJ Sneak,
Soulsonic Force,
The Toasters,
Nico,
Connie Case,
Thompson Twins,
Sonny Sharrock,
Depeche Mode,
Qualms,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Lindisfarne,
Morten Harket,
Lee Hazlewood,
Can,
Glambeats Corp.,
the Human League,
Hardrive, Hardrive, Hardrive, Hardrive.
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.