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 Jamaica and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Mumbai.
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 Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 The Blues Magoos to the disco kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Ultravox. All the underground hits.
All Louis and Bebe Barron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Kinks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harry Pussy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dead C,
Clear Light,
Aswad,
Neu!,
Donny Hathaway,
Lungfish,
the Swans,
Be Bop Deluxe,
DNA,
Pere Ubu,
DJ Sneak,
The Slits,
Colin Newman,
Byron Stingily,
Nas,
The Standells,
The Fortunes,
Popol Vuh,
EPMD,
Johnny Clarke,
Faust,
The Move,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Yaz,
Mary Jane Girls,
Gang of Four,
Maleditus Sound,
Pantaleimon,
Pierre Henry,
Pylon,
Chris Corsano,
Sam Rivers,
Hasil Adkins,
Scott Walker,
The Slackers,
Cecil Taylor,
Isaac Hayes,
Spandau Ballet,
Au Pairs,
Technova,
Howard Jones,
Joensuu 1685,
Grandmaster Flash,
Todd Rundgren,
Kenny Larkin,
Tears for Fears,
Swans,
The Golliwogs,
Visage,
Infiniti,
the Fania All-Stars,
Vainqueur,
Organ,
The Fuzztones,
Kaleidoscope,
Danielle Patucci,
Althea and Donna,
Niagra,
cv313,
Shuggie Otis,
Suicide,
Dark Day,
Idris Muhammad,
Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes.
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.