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 Ukraine and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 Captain Beefheart 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 Bootsy Collins to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Make Up. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Hutcherson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Goldenarms 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Birthday Party record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Massinfluence,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Mary Jane Girls,
Groovy Waters,
Icehouse,
Skriet,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Kerrie Biddell,
Prince Buster,
Guru Guru,
Arthur Verocai,
Lou Reed,
Barrington Levy,
New Age Steppers,
Dark Day,
Roxette,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Martian,
X-102,
Vladislav Delay,
Gerry Rafferty,
Nik Kershaw,
Black Flag,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Neon Judgement,
Y Pants,
D'Angelo,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Modern Lovers,
David McCallum,
The Five Americans,
Porter Ricks,
Warsaw,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Dirtbombs,
DNA,
Bobby Byrd,
Cybotron,
Sällskapet,
Gabor Szabo,
Gang Starr,
Con Funk Shun,
Rotary Connection,
Dennis Brown,
Lightning Bolt,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Wasted Youth,
Pierre Henry,
Mars,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
the Human League,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Glambeats Corp.,
Sister Nancy,
Curtis Mayfield,
Niagra,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Alarm Clocks,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Leaves,
Circle Jerks,
Outsiders,
Blossom Toes,
Electric Light Orchestra, Electric Light Orchestra, Electric Light Orchestra, Electric Light Orchestra.
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.