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 Kiribati and from Manchester.
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 Delhi and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Sex Pistols to the electroclash kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Outsiders. All the underground hits.
All Au Pairs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Cure 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Desert Stars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Slits,
Judy Mowatt,
Harmonia,
Absolute Body Control,
The Move,
Terrestrial Tones,
Lee Hazlewood,
Blake Baxter,
Ponytail,
D'Angelo,
Animal Collective,
Visage,
Moebius,
Guru Guru,
Flamin' Groovies,
The United States of America,
Nils Olav,
The Trojans,
Man Eating Sloth,
Josef K,
Smog,
Bang On A Can,
Connie Case,
Dawn Penn,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Alison Limerick,
Make Up,
Freddie Wadling,
Boredoms,
Nik Kershaw,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Swans,
Pere Ubu,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Motions,
Glenn Branca,
Skaos,
The Moleskins,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Crash Course in Science,
The Fall,
Accadde A,
Faraquet,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Buckinghams,
Pantaleimon,
Jawbox,
Arab on Radar,
CMW,
Joe Finger,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Wake,
The Smoke,
Radio Birdman,
The Kinks,
Rapeman,
Sun City Girls,
David Bowie,
Eve St. Jones,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Happenings,
The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers, The Knickerbockers.
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.