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 Vanuatu and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in 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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 organ 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 The Barracudas to the disco kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 The Music Machine. All the underground hits.
All Model 500 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Angels of Light & Akron/Family record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 an organ and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Donald Byrd record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
AZ,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Camberwell Now,
Y Pants,
The Smoke,
Soft Machine,
David McCallum,
The Blues Magoos,
the Soft Cell,
The Smiths,
Joe Finger,
Sexual Harrassment,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Wire,
Faraquet,
L. Decosne,
Gang Starr,
A Certain Ratio,
The Blackbyrds,
Gabor Szabo,
Little Man,
Public Enemy,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The J.B.'s,
Agitation Free,
H. Thieme,
Barbara Tucker,
Avey Tare,
The Dave Clark Five,
Mandrill,
the Normal,
Bill Wells,
Radio Birdman,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Kaleidoscope,
Country Teasers,
Depeche Mode,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Selecter,
Lindisfarne,
Jeru the Damaja,
La Düsseldorf,
The Vogues,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Radiohead,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Leonard Cohen,
Basic Channel,
Nico,
The Birthday Party,
Hardrive,
The New Christs,
B.T. Express,
Anthony Braxton,
The Trojans,
Popol Vuh,
Fear,
The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters.
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.