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 Dominican Republic and from Woodstock.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Cosmic Jokers to the techno 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 Banda Bassotti. All the underground hits.
All Mark Hollis tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dirtbombs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fort Wilson Riot record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Last Poets,
Gregory Isaacs,
Y Pants,
The Toasters,
Traffic Nightmare,
Soft Machine,
Inner City,
the Slits,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Flash Fearless,
Graham Central Station,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Gun Club,
Gang Green,
PIL,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Circle Jerks,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Mandrill,
T.S.O.L.,
Sun City Girls,
John Coltrane,
The Red Krayola,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Black Moon,
Black Bananas,
The Star Department,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
T. Rex,
Bobby Womack,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Moleskins,
MDC,
Soul Sonic Force,
Rufus Thomas,
The Alarm Clocks,
Fluxion,
Pagans,
The Doobie Brothers,
Susan Cadogan,
Roxy Music,
Ronnie Foster,
The Remains,
The Detroit Cobras,
Model 500,
Charles Mingus,
Alton Ellis,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The New Christs,
Goldenarms,
The Dave Clark Five,
Eric B and Rakim,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Arthur Verocai,
The Real Kids,
Ituana,
Todd Rundgren,
Nation of Ulysses,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Donny Hathaway,
The Mummies, The Mummies, The Mummies, The Mummies.
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.