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 Malawi and from Accra.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Sad Lovers and Giants to the dance kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Neu!. All the underground hits.
All Roxette tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Mighty Diamonds 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Sheep,
The Index,
Zapp,
Cheater Slicks,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Crooked Eye,
The Fugs,
PIL,
Livin' Joy,
Main Source,
Carl Craig,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Invisible,
Jerry's Kids,
The Fuzztones,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Bobby Sherman,
8 Eyed Spy,
Malaria!,
Ossler,
Byron Stingily,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Franke,
Roger Hodgson,
Electric Prunes,
T.S.O.L.,
Wally Richardson,
The Residents,
The Five Americans,
Crime,
Tim Buckley,
Hoover,
Subhumans,
The Cure,
Max Romeo,
Danielle Patucci,
Spandau Ballet,
The Doobie Brothers,
Fad Gadget,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Litter,
Gabor Szabo,
Terry Callier,
Jandek,
Bluetip,
Pet Shop Boys,
Gang Starr,
Isaac Hayes,
Bootsy Collins,
John Coltrane,
John Holt,
Jacob Miller,
The Sound,
Liliput,
The Smiths,
The Last Poets,
Ohio Players,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Henry Cow,
Scrapy,
Sexual Harrassment,
Con Funk Shun,
Little Man,
Mad Mike, Mad Mike, Mad Mike, Mad Mike.
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.