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 Guinea-Bissau and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Ronnie Foster to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Names. All the underground hits.
All The Doobie Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The J.B.'s 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rapeman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Curtis Mayfield,
Wasted Youth,
Deakin,
The J.B.'s,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
the Swans,
Dead Boys,
Davy DMX,
CMW,
Television,
Radiohead,
Letta Mbulu,
Bizarre Inc.,
Suburban Knight,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Bang On A Can,
Bobby Byrd,
Excepter,
Kenny Larkin,
Sam Rivers,
The Dave Clark Five,
a-ha,
Tubeway Army,
EPMD,
The Fire Engines,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Vainqueur,
Rufus Thomas,
Mr. Review,
Moebius,
Roger Hodgson,
Harmonia,
Robert Wyatt,
Gong,
Rakim,
Das Ding,
Funkadelic,
Unwound,
Reuben Wilson,
Slave,
Glambeats Corp.,
Pole,
Pantaleimon,
Kerrie Biddell,
Carl Craig,
Rekid,
Gastr Del Sol,
Gang Green,
Ohio Players,
Smog,
Joe Smooth,
Harry Pussy,
The Wake,
Gil Scott Heron,
Crispy Ambulance,
Chrome,
The Offenders,
the Association,
Stiv Bators,
Kurtis Blow,
The Flesh Eaters,
cv313,
Black Moon,
Second Layer,
Can, Can, Can, Can.
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.