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 Mauritania and from Lagos.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Marcia Griffiths to the grime kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Selector Dub Narcotic. All the underground hits.
All The Dead C tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Zero Boys record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 an oboe and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marine Girls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Saints,
Black Pus,
Royal Trux,
The Skatalites,
Ohio Players,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Barracudas,
Robert Görl,
48th St. Collective,
Harry Pussy,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Mojo Men,
The Tremeloes,
Freddie Wadling,
Theoretical Girls,
Bootsy Collins,
Sparks,
The Raincoats,
Radiopuhelimet,
Kerri Chandler,
Popol Vuh,
Harmonia,
Rhythm & Sound,
Sällskapet,
Unrelated Segments,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Guru Guru,
Erasure,
Wally Richardson,
The Alarm Clocks,
Mandrill,
World's Most,
The Birthday Party,
Niagra,
The Index,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Mary Jane Girls,
Suicide,
Newcleus,
Anthony Braxton,
The Smiths,
The Seeds,
Stockholm Monsters,
Joyce Sims,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Residents,
Cluster,
Tomorrow,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Nick Fraelich,
Jimmy McGriff,
Q and Not U,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Anakelly,
Severed Heads,
Josef K,
Urselle,
The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang.
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.