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 Ireland and from Edmonton.
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 Shanghai and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Mission of Burma to the electroclash 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 Glambeats Corp.. All the underground hits.
All Franke tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sad Lovers and Giants record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Anthony Braxton record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Swell Maps,
Flipper,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Ken Boothe,
Mary Jane Girls,
Tom Boy,
Underground Resistance,
Monolake,
Gerry Rafferty,
Qualms,
Lee Hazlewood,
Nation of Ulysses,
FM Einheit,
James White and The Blacks,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Sun Ra,
Eve St. Jones,
The Barracudas,
Pantaleimon,
Ultimate Spinach,
Popol Vuh,
The Happenings,
Lightning Bolt,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Darondo,
Moebius,
Joey Negro,
Malaria!,
Thompson Twins,
The Cowsills,
Gil Scott Heron,
Bobby Sherman,
Eddi Front,
KRS-One,
Terrestrial Tones,
Iggy Pop,
Panda Bear,
The Gladiators,
MC5,
Bizarre Inc.,
Cybotron,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Barry Ungar,
Organ,
Scan 7,
The United States of America,
Throbbing Gristle,
Can,
Kenny Larkin,
Kerrie Biddell,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Scott Walker,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Simply Red,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Jeff Lynne,
the Bar-Kays,
The Knickerbockers,
Donny Hathaway,
Grauzone,
The Durutti Column,
Susan Cadogan,
Be Bop Deluxe, Be Bop Deluxe, Be Bop Deluxe, Be Bop Deluxe.
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.