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 Bhutan and from Winnipeg.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the marimba 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 Tears for Fears to the disco kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Susan Cadogan. All the underground hits.
All The Five Americans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Interpol record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Liaisons Dangereuses record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dawn Penn,
Crispian St. Peters,
Sister Nancy,
Cecil Taylor,
Eric Copeland,
Gregory Isaacs,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Sex Pistols,
Harry Pussy,
Sonic Youth,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Buckinghams,
The Invisible,
Funkadelic,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Sun Ra,
Half Japanese,
The Names,
Pole,
Altered Images,
Das Ding,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Suicide,
Lee Hazlewood,
Brand Nubian,
Pierre Henry,
Andrew Hill,
Nation of Ulysses,
Fad Gadget,
Wolf Eyes,
Cymande,
Oneida,
Matthew Bourne,
Nas,
Minutemen,
Alton Ellis,
Arthur Verocai,
Mars,
Panda Bear,
Faraquet,
H. Thieme,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Alarm Clocks,
The American Breed,
FM Einheit,
Nils Olav,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Aswad,
Steve Hackett,
Jimmy McGriff,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Flipper,
Robert Hood,
Motorama,
Funky Four + One,
Royal Trux,
Chrome,
Soft Machine,
The Durutti Column,
Porter Ricks,
Deepchord,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Neon Judgement,
The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light.
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.