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 Iraq and from Cairo.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Freddie Wadling to the grunge 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 Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx. All the underground hits.
All Ultra Naté tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Chris & Cosey record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Soft Cell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Evens,
Desert Stars,
Yellowson,
New York Dolls,
Sister Nancy,
Kerri Chandler,
Lee Hazlewood,
Wolf Eyes,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Todd Rundgren,
New Order,
Crispian St. Peters,
Porter Ricks,
The Martian,
Radio Birdman,
The Mummies,
Thee Headcoats,
Albert Ayler,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Ken Boothe,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Adolescents,
Negative Approach,
Wings,
June Days,
Terry Callier,
Cluster,
H. Thieme,
Marshall Jefferson,
Joe Smooth,
DNA,
Judy Mowatt,
Delon & Dalcan,
Camberwell Now,
The Busters,
Lindisfarne,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Mars,
Ludus,
Janne Schatter,
The Moody Blues,
Minny Pops,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Jesper Dahlback,
Slick Rick,
Scion,
the Human League,
Khruangbin,
Gastr Del Sol,
Gregory Isaacs,
Nils Olav,
Eddi Front,
Soft Machine,
Outsiders,
Marmalade,
Circle Jerks,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The New Christs,
Derrick Morgan,
The Real Kids,
Nation of Ulysses,
La Düsseldorf,
Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow.
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.