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 Madagascar and from Milan.
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 Columbus and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Crash Course in Science to the jazz 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All Mary Jane Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Porter Ricks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Roxette record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Main Source,
Davy DMX,
John Holt,
Prince Buster,
China Crisis,
Gang Green,
Reuben Wilson,
The Leaves,
Das Ding,
Desert Stars,
Skriet,
Subhumans,
Sugar Minott,
Blake Baxter,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Terrestrial Tones,
Freddie Wadling,
Stiv Bators,
Swans,
D'Angelo,
Quando Quango,
Shoche,
The Dirtbombs,
EPMD,
Morten Harket,
Kayak,
The Golliwogs,
Hasil Adkins,
Electric Prunes,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Flash Fearless,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Soft Cell,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Man Parrish,
The Detroit Cobras,
Eve St. Jones,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Don Cherry,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Ultravox,
David Bowie,
Harry Pussy,
Scan 7,
Max Romeo,
The Busters,
Faraquet,
Eric B and Rakim,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Durutti Column,
Nation of Ulysses,
Pussy Galore,
the Soft Cell,
The Barracudas,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Marvin Gaye,
Jeff Lynne,
Roxy Music,
Icehouse,
Bobby Byrd,
Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope, Kaleidoscope.
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.