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 Madagascar and from Madrid.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Winnipeg.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Q and Not U to the grime kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Country Teasers. All the underground hits.
All Wolf Eyes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bang on a Can All-Stars record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jesper Dahlback record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Metal Thangz,
Unrelated Segments,
Yazoo,
Q and Not U,
Cameo,
The Selecter,
Marmalade,
Urselle,
Von Mondo,
Bad Manners,
cv313,
DNA,
Faraquet,
Kayak,
Skaos,
Avey Tare,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
H. Thieme,
The Mojo Men,
Pylon,
Japan,
The Motions,
Ken Boothe,
Eli Mardock,
Ultimate Spinach,
Frankie Knuckles,
Glenn Branca,
John Cale,
The Zeros,
Junior Murvin,
The Toasters,
Average White Band,
Lou Christie,
Lalann,
Hasil Adkins,
Lightning Bolt,
Wolf Eyes,
Johnny Osbourne,
Dark Day,
Tommy Roe,
Suburban Knight,
Tears for Fears,
Jawbox,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Yaz,
F. McDonald,
Newcleus,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Martian,
Crash Course in Science,
The Kinks,
Scientists,
Reagan Youth,
MC5,
the Association,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Shadows of Knight,
Crispy Ambulance,
Oblivians,
Pierre Henry,
The Names,
Marvin Gaye, Marvin Gaye, Marvin Gaye, Marvin Gaye.
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.