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 Sweden and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 Edmonton and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Fluxion to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Severed Heads. All the underground hits.
All The Tremeloes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alison Limerick 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 marimba and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rhythim Is Rhythim record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Laurel Aitken,
Joe Finger,
Rites of Spring,
A Certain Ratio,
The Names,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Sonics,
Tom Boy,
Kas Product,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Soft Machine,
Eli Mardock,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Bronski Beat,
One Last Wish,
Liliput,
Pantaleimon,
Alphaville,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Dead C,
The Velvet Underground,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Saints,
Traffic Nightmare,
Whodini,
Dave Gahan,
Sex Pistols,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Pussy Galore,
Metal Thangz,
The Vogues,
Funkadelic,
Subhumans,
Popol Vuh,
Gichy Dan,
Simply Red,
Kool Moe Dee,
Sandy B,
Motorama,
Monolake,
Q65,
The Gories,
Arcadia,
Donald Byrd,
DJ Style,
Brand Nubian,
Terrestrial Tones,
Marine Girls,
Arthur Verocai,
Alison Limerick,
Deadbeat,
Man Eating Sloth,
Spoonie Gee,
The Standells,
These Immortal Souls,
Buzzcocks,
Robert Görl,
Kerri Chandler,
The Index,
Neu!, Neu!, Neu!, Neu!.
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.