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 Mali and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 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 Mo-Dettes to the rap kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Alarm Clocks. All the underground hits.
All Ultramagnetic MC's tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tom Boy,
The Electric Prunes,
Yellowson,
Jandek,
The Last Poets,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Red Krayola,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Idris Muhammad,
The Slackers,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Happenings,
the Fania All-Stars,
Babytalk,
Bill Near,
Liliput,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Cheater Slicks,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Laurel Aitken,
Derrick Morgan,
Eve St. Jones,
Spandau Ballet,
Letta Mbulu,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Sällskapet,
Au Pairs,
Lou Christie,
Y Pants,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Human League,
Traffic Nightmare,
Cybotron,
Kenny Larkin,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Bronski Beat,
John Foxx,
The Motions,
Wasted Youth,
Nick Fraelich,
The Leaves,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Alarm Clocks,
Underground Resistance,
Symarip,
Amazonics,
Shoche,
Bobby Womack,
Hoover,
Goldenarms,
Magazine,
The American Breed,
Kurtis Blow,
Radiohead,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Gladiators,
Barclay James Harvest,
Colin Newman,
Eric Dolphy,
Jacob Miller,
Zero Boys,
Cymande, Cymande, Cymande, Cymande.
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.