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 Armenia and from Mexico City.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the marimba 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 Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five to the techno kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Five Americans. All the underground hits.
All Skarface tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Sherman 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a a-ha record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gong,
The Durutti Column,
Popol Vuh,
The Five Americans,
Underground Resistance,
Pussy Galore,
Charles Mingus,
Ice-T,
Eric Copeland,
Jeff Mills,
Sun Ra,
Buzzcocks,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Buckinghams,
Crooked Eye,
Janne Schatter,
Guru Guru,
the Germs,
Joey Negro,
Albert Ayler,
Gregory Isaacs,
D'Angelo,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Johnny Clarke,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Parry Music,
Crime,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
the Soft Cell,
the Bar-Kays,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Grey Daturas,
Youth Brigade,
Ten City,
Neil Young,
Zero Boys,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Bad Manners,
The Cowsills,
New York Dolls,
Josef K,
Hashim,
New Age Steppers,
Nils Olav,
Wasted Youth,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Fluxion,
These Immortal Souls,
Sugar Minott,
A Certain Ratio,
Intrusion,
Erykah Badu,
Jeff Lynne,
Hot Snakes,
Cymande,
Sparks,
Kenny Larkin,
Arcadia,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
LL Cool J,
Siglo XX,
Juan Atkins,
Siouxsie and the Banshees, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Siouxsie and the Banshees.
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.