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 Sierra Leone and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 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 Lucky Dragons to the funk 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 Beasts of Bourbon. All the underground hits.
All Alphaville tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Seeds record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 linndrum and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Beasts of Bourbon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin 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 Cramps,
Agent Orange,
The Count Five,
Rosa Yemen,
The Dirtbombs,
Ice-T,
Eric Copeland,
Letta Mbulu,
Royal Trux,
Sixth Finger,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Remains,
The Cure,
Gastr Del Sol,
Godley & Creme,
Bobby Womack,
Alton Ellis,
The American Breed,
The Smiths,
Cecil Taylor,
B.T. Express,
Ultimate Spinach,
Chris & Cosey,
New York Dolls,
The Birthday Party,
The Modern Lovers,
Tres Demented,
the Normal,
Howard Jones,
LL Cool J,
Barclay James Harvest,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Hardrive,
Black Pus,
Glenn Branca,
Dead Boys,
Little Man,
Ronnie Foster,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Simply Red,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Five Americans,
Lalo Schifrin,
Barbara Tucker,
Chrome,
La Düsseldorf,
Zero Boys,
Oblivians,
Symarip,
The Moody Blues,
Crispian St. Peters,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Warren Ellis,
Gerry Rafferty,
Amon Düül II,
Kerrie Biddell,
Talk Talk,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Alice Coltrane,
The Toasters,
Josef K,
The Velvet Underground,
Echospace, Echospace, Echospace, Echospace.
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.