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 Togo and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Minor Threat to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Toni Rubio. All the underground hits.
All John Foxx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every UT record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 chamberlin and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Depeche Mode record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Invisible,
Hot Snakes,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Human League,
The Gladiators,
Lakeside,
Niagra,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Soft Machine,
Maleditus Sound,
Albert Ayler,
Toni Rubio,
Excepter,
DJ Sneak,
Kool Moe Dee,
Bad Manners,
Rekid,
Bluetip,
The Searchers,
Bobby Byrd,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Gang of Four,
Bill Near,
The Flesh Eaters,
Popol Vuh,
China Crisis,
Electric Prunes,
Ponytail,
Matthew Halsall,
Make Up,
Jeru the Damaja,
Al Stewart,
48th St. Collective,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Fugs,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Marvin Gaye,
Rotary Connection,
Porter Ricks,
Siglo XX,
Jesper Dahlback,
Reuben Wilson,
Radio Birdman,
Flash Fearless,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
UT,
Kerri Chandler,
The Blues Magoos,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Wasted Youth,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Jacob Miller,
Technova,
Y Pants,
Camouflage,
Dead Boys,
The Litter,
Sight & Sound, Sight & Sound, Sight & Sound, Sight & Sound.
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.