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 Korea South and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 clarinet 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 Infiniti to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Camberwell Now. All the underground hits.
All Eric B and Rakim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Radiohead 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Radio Birdman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marvin Gaye,
kango's stein massive,
The Black Dice,
Harry Pussy,
Mark Hollis,
JFA,
Fluxion,
Todd Rundgren,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Cecil Taylor,
Sonic Youth,
Sly & The Family Stone,
David Bowie,
The Offenders,
Barbara Tucker,
Idris Muhammad,
The Misunderstood,
Loose Ends,
The Beau Brummels,
Model 500,
Bronski Beat,
Excepter,
Mr. Review,
The Star Department,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
X-Ray Spex,
Tom Boy,
Zero Boys,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Bauhaus,
Gerry Rafferty,
Hardrive,
Roy Ayers,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Funky Four + One,
Reuben Wilson,
Derrick Morgan,
Jeff Lynne,
The Birthday Party,
Thee Headcoats,
Kurtis Blow,
Scientists,
The Trojans,
Jawbox,
F. McDonald,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Hashim,
Nation of Ulysses,
Thompson Twins,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Raincoats,
ABC,
The Last Poets,
Wally Richardson,
Babytalk,
The Tremeloes,
Todd Terry,
Wire,
Khruangbin,
Dave Gahan,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine, Major Organ And The Adding Machine, Major Organ And The Adding Machine, Major Organ And The Adding Machine.
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.