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 Montenegro and from Mexico City.
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 1961 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 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 Frankie Knuckles to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Section 25. All the underground hits.
All The Gladiators tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crash Course in Science 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eric Copeland record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ronan,
Pere Ubu,
The Doobie Brothers,
Bush Tetras,
Sex Pistols,
Cheater Slicks,
Black Sheep,
Jimmy McGriff,
Das Ding,
Terry Callier,
Swell Maps,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Loose Ends,
Cybotron,
Peter & Gordon,
Infiniti,
Accadde A,
Harry Pussy,
Malaria!,
Davy DMX,
Lower 48,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Litter,
The Doors,
Ronnie Foster,
Eve St. Jones,
Piero Umiliani,
CMW,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Zeros,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Drexciya,
Quando Quango,
10cc,
Oneida,
Black Bananas,
Bobby Byrd,
Scratch Acid,
the Germs,
Minutemen,
The Birthday Party,
48th St. Collective,
China Crisis,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Dead C,
The Victims,
Sun Ra,
MDC,
Mandrill,
X-102,
Alphaville,
Scion,
F. McDonald,
Oblivians,
Charles Mingus,
John Coltrane,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Average White Band,
The Happenings,
The Vogues,
Sarah Menescal,
Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock.
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.