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 Papua New Guinea and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 Holger Czukay 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 Blake Baxter to the grunge kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Howard Jones. All the underground hits.
All Television Personalities tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sam Rivers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stiv Bators record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Barracudas,
Ponytail,
Ultravox,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
X-Ray Spex,
Henry Cow,
Magma,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Seeds,
Scientists,
Sugar Minott,
a-ha,
Vladislav Delay,
Letta Mbulu,
Lower 48,
Howard Jones,
Interpol,
Sparks,
Minor Threat,
Khruangbin,
Rapeman,
Icehouse,
Deadbeat,
New Age Steppers,
Supertramp,
Pagans,
The Real Kids,
Japan,
Donny Hathaway,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Von Mondo,
Roger Hodgson,
Buzzcocks,
Fear,
The Names,
Ituana,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Tears for Fears,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Big Daddy Kane,
Sly & The Family Stone,
the Association,
Slick Rick,
Glenn Branca,
Sam Rivers,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Pantaleimon,
Unrelated Segments,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Pole,
Soul Sonic Force,
F. McDonald,
Charles Mingus,
Funky Four + One,
Radio Birdman,
Rhythm & Sound,
Thee Headcoats,
The Toasters,
Ken Boothe,
Dennis Brown,
Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti, Banda Bassotti.
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.