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 Liberia and from Bremen.
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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the marimba 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 London Community Gospel Choir to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Ultra Naté. All the underground hits.
All The Busters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Angels of Light record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dead Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mr. Review,
Blossom Toes,
Brothers Johnson,
Sarah Menescal,
PIL,
The Trojans,
Todd Rundgren,
The Smiths,
Minor Threat,
Shoche,
Mission of Burma,
Matthew Halsall,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Donald Byrd,
Accadde A,
The Monks,
Boredoms,
Sister Nancy,
Swell Maps,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
E-Dancer,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Buckinghams,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
kango's stein massive,
Quantec,
The Gladiators,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Roxette,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Big Daddy Kane,
Mad Mike,
World's Most,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Marc Almond,
Public Enemy,
Ohio Players,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Stooges,
The Residents,
Moebius,
Bang On A Can,
Dark Day,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Livin' Joy,
Wings,
Das Ding,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
One Last Wish,
Leonard Cohen,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Busters,
Terrestrial Tones,
Procol Harum,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Golliwogs,
Echospace,
Eddi Front,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Fluxion,
Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division, Joy Division.
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.