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 Tuvalu and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 chamberlin 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 The Pop Group to the jazz 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 The United States of America. All the underground hits.
All Juan Atkins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Henry Cow 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eric B and Rakim record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Angels of Light,
The Evens,
The Doors,
Flash Fearless,
Jacques Brel,
Tres Demented,
The Cowsills,
World's Most,
The Index,
Thee Headcoats,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Freddie Wadling,
Sonny Sharrock,
Technova,
Crispy Ambulance,
Television,
Dead Boys,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Joy Division,
Man Eating Sloth,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Junior Murvin,
Interpol,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Birthday Party,
The Offenders,
Mission of Burma,
Roxette,
Davy DMX,
Pet Shop Boys,
X-102,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Delta 5,
Jeff Mills,
The Moody Blues,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Supertramp,
Faraquet,
Stetsasonic,
The Alarm Clocks,
Black Pus,
Trumans Water,
Alison Limerick,
Tom Boy,
Aloha Tigers,
Johnny Osbourne,
Gastr Del Sol,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Franke,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Neon Judgement,
Ituana,
Pantytec,
Ultra Naté,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Sarah Menescal,
Sun City Girls,
The Searchers,
Mark Hollis,
Lyres,
the Association,
Fear,
Livin' Joy,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs, Notorious Big And Bone Thugs.
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.