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 St Lucia and from London.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the güiro 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 the Soft Cell to the grime 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 Porter Ricks. All the underground hits.
All Beasts of Bourbon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Basic Channel 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Quando Quango record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harry Pussy,
Scion,
Radio Birdman,
Brass Construction,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Ken Boothe,
Bizarre Inc.,
Suburban Knight,
The Angels of Light,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Sun Ra,
Second Layer,
The Durutti Column,
Idris Muhammad,
Dave Gahan,
John Lydon,
Chrome,
Reuben Wilson,
Lee Hazlewood,
Grey Daturas,
The Mojo Men,
Peter and Kerry,
Sexual Harrassment,
Whodini,
Intrusion,
Procol Harum,
Nick Fraelich,
Harmonia,
the Soft Cell,
New York Dolls,
The Last Poets,
Model 500,
Ludus,
The Blues Magoos,
The Mummies,
The Moody Blues,
Rapeman,
Basic Channel,
Scrapy,
Skriet,
The Alarm Clocks,
Jerry's Kids,
Tres Demented,
T. Rex,
Ronan,
Adolescents,
Bang On A Can,
Kool Moe Dee,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Gories,
The Five Americans,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Glenn Branca,
The Tremeloes,
Ten City,
MDC,
Khruangbin,
the Association,
Trumans Water,
X-102,
John Coltrane,
Marine Girls,
Tears for Fears,
Audionom, Audionom, Audionom, Audionom.
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.