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 Guinea-Bissau and from Johannesburg.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 These Immortal Souls to the dance 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 Donny Hathaway. All the underground hits.
All The Mummies tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Chrome record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monks,
Dark Day,
Suicide,
Gang Green,
Ponytail,
Yellowson,
Bobby Sherman,
The Gap Band,
The Electric Prunes,
The Pretty Things,
The Black Dice,
Cluster,
Suburban Knight,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Fear,
Deepchord,
Danielle Patucci,
The Zeros,
John Coltrane,
The Slits,
Pet Shop Boys,
Tim Buckley,
Silicon Teens,
Marine Girls,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Terry Callier,
Circle Jerks,
The Grass Roots,
Alphaville,
Subhumans,
The Raincoats,
Brass Construction,
Jerry's Kids,
Underground Resistance,
Desert Stars,
The Victims,
Howard Jones,
The Dead C,
The Shadows of Knight,
Porter Ricks,
Swell Maps,
JFA,
Flipper,
Sister Nancy,
Delta 5,
Agent Orange,
T. Rex,
David McCallum,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Goldenarms,
Morten Harket,
Fat Boys,
Rhythm & Sound,
Q65,
The Misunderstood,
Harry Pussy,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The American Breed,
Visage, Visage, Visage, Visage.
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.