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 Burundi and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 theremin 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 Country Teasers to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 T.S.O.L.. All the underground hits.
All Rufus Thomas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every London Community Gospel Choir record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Foxx record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Chris Corsano,
Slick Rick,
Black Moon,
Ronnie Foster,
R.M.O.,
Tubeway Army,
Cybotron,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Malaria!,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Eric Dolphy,
Sister Nancy,
Jimmy McGriff,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Fire Engines,
Man Parrish,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Delon & Dalcan,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Hasil Adkins,
Supertramp,
Brand Nubian,
Buzzcocks,
Spandau Ballet,
Deadbeat,
Icehouse,
The Slackers,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Eden Ahbez,
Negative Approach,
Glenn Branca,
The Fortunes,
Robert Hood,
Au Pairs,
John Coltrane,
Blossom Toes,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Tommy Roe,
Brick,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Kas Product,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Lou Reed,
Monolake,
Lee Hazlewood,
Barbara Tucker,
48th St. Collective,
DJ Sneak,
Sex Pistols,
Outsiders,
Slave,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Symarip,
Jacques Brel,
Wings,
Ultravox,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Model 500,
Soft Machine, Soft Machine, Soft Machine, Soft Machine.
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.