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 Namibia and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Grass Roots to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Niagra. All the underground hits.
All London Community Gospel Choir tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Joy Division record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Walker Brothers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Porter Ricks,
Crispian St. Peters,
Accadde A,
The Blackbyrds,
Pylon,
The Smoke,
Siglo XX,
The Moody Blues,
Loose Ends,
Harmonia,
Motorama,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Mojo Men,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Roxette,
John Lydon,
Popol Vuh,
Frankie Knuckles,
Zapp,
Sexual Harrassment,
Public Enemy,
The Happenings,
Schoolly D,
Quando Quango,
China Crisis,
The Red Krayola,
Gerry Rafferty,
June of 44,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Reuben Wilson,
Bill Near,
ABC,
Nils Olav,
The Walker Brothers,
the Normal,
Bob Dylan,
The Cure,
Cluster,
Lyres,
Fatback Band,
Girls At Our Best!,
Graham Central Station,
The Birthday Party,
Black Sheep,
Television,
The Fire Engines,
Simply Red,
Wire,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Blues Magoos,
The Searchers,
The Tremeloes,
Talk Talk,
Jacques Brel,
The Residents,
Chris & Cosey,
Dorothy Ashby,
Black Moon,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.