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 Guatemala and from Salvador.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Country Teasers to the funk 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 The Blues Magoos. All the underground hits.
All The Barracudas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every K-Klass record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angels of Light & Akron/Family record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bootsy Collins,
Eric B and Rakim,
Todd Terry,
Albert Ayler,
Basic Channel,
Chris Corsano,
Nico,
Interpol,
The Selecter,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Jeff Lynne,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Grauzone,
Delon & Dalcan,
Unrelated Segments,
Barry Ungar,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
DNA,
Cecil Taylor,
Camouflage,
H. Thieme,
Nirvana,
The Fugs,
Fat Boys,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Dead C,
Mr. Review,
The Searchers,
the Association,
Fugazi,
Mad Mike,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Dual Sessions,
The Stooges,
Graham Central Station,
Henry Cow,
The American Breed,
Simply Red,
Lower 48,
Marine Girls,
Gichy Dan,
Anthony Braxton,
The Fire Engines,
Crispian St. Peters,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Minnie Riperton,
John Holt,
Symarip,
Cameo,
the Fania All-Stars,
Technova,
a-ha,
Sex Pistols,
The Slackers,
Khruangbin,
Warren Ellis,
Flipper,
Black Sheep,
Liliput,
Faraquet,
the Swans, the Swans, the Swans, the Swans.
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.