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 Croatia and from Jakarta.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 New York Dolls to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Roger Hodgson. All the underground hits.
All Barclay James Harvest tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every New York Dolls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 harpsichord and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Basic Channel record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cybotron,
Grauzone,
Agent Orange,
Sister Nancy,
Moss Icon,
Fugazi,
Trumans Water,
Panda Bear,
Marc Almond,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Slackers,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Angels of Light,
Bootsy Collins,
Ultra Naté,
The Red Krayola,
The Remains,
Monks,
Thee Headcoats,
Section 25,
The Monochrome Set,
Pierre Henry,
Swell Maps,
ABBA,
The Gap Band,
The Velvet Underground,
Robert Hood,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Arthur Verocai,
Kayak,
Bush Tetras,
Ronnie Foster,
Kurtis Blow,
Qualms,
The Tremeloes,
Lucky Dragons,
Excepter,
EPMD,
Skaos,
Brothers Johnson,
The Walker Brothers,
Pulsallama,
the Association,
David McCallum,
AZ,
Radio Birdman,
The Grass Roots,
New Order,
Lyres,
Erykah Badu,
The Kinks,
Pantytec,
The Sonics,
James White and The Blacks,
The Electric Prunes,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Avey Tare,
The Offenders,
DNA,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Terry Callier,
Jacob Miller,
The Names, The Names, The Names, The Names.
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.