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 Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1960 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Human League. All the underground hits.
All John Foxx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeru the Damaja record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tim Buckley record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Index,
Henry Cow,
The Busters,
Max Romeo,
Hot Snakes,
Cal Tjader,
Fela Kuti,
Thee Headcoats,
Pere Ubu,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Circle Jerks,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Popol Vuh,
Audionom,
Swell Maps,
A Certain Ratio,
Rhythm & Sound,
Kerrie Biddell,
Marmalade,
Pierre Henry,
The Sonics,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Steve Hackett,
Tears for Fears,
Nick Fraelich,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Jawbox,
Ludus,
Rites of Spring,
Los Fastidios,
Adolescents,
Monks,
the Slits,
Slick Rick,
Cheater Slicks,
Duran Duran,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Laurel Aitken,
Technova,
The Detroit Cobras,
Man Eating Sloth,
Lungfish,
La Düsseldorf,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Crime,
Susan Cadogan,
Gang of Four,
Minnie Riperton,
Little Man,
Easy Going,
Flamin' Groovies,
Piero Umiliani,
Eric Copeland,
Lightning Bolt,
Severed Heads,
Outsiders,
The Kinks,
Kaleidoscope,
Buzzcocks,
Fad Gadget,
The Neon Judgement, The Neon Judgement, The Neon Judgement, The Neon Judgement.
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.