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 Fiji and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 United States of America to the rock kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Standells. All the underground hits.
All Bizarre Inc. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 an oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Litter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Popol Vuh,
Colin Newman,
Qualms,
Eric Copeland,
ABBA,
Television,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Yusef Lateef,
Crispy Ambulance,
Byron Stingily,
These Immortal Souls,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Marshall Jefferson,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Neu!,
Unwound,
Pussy Galore,
Boz Scaggs,
Matthew Bourne,
Roy Ayers,
Albert Ayler,
Sexual Harrassment,
Y Pants,
The Cure,
Johnny Osbourne,
Ornette Coleman,
the Germs,
Jimmy McGriff,
Mark Hollis,
Niagra,
Gerry Rafferty,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Pop Group,
Charles Mingus,
Nick Fraelich,
Country Teasers,
Faust,
The Dave Clark Five,
Hot Snakes,
Jeff Mills,
Motorama,
Derrick Morgan,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
The Gories,
Sound Behaviour,
Lower 48,
Newcleus,
Cameo,
The Blues Magoos,
the Slits,
Lou Reed,
The Buckinghams,
Cymande,
Intrusion,
Arthur Verocai,
Shuggie Otis,
Sister Nancy,
Pantytec,
Arab on Radar,
Nico, Nico, Nico, Nico.
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.