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 Algeria and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Ultramagnetic MC's to the punk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Minnie Riperton. All the underground hits.
All Mad Mike tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Detroit Cobras 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Girls At Our Best! record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Al Stewart,
Suicide,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Bootsy Collins,
Ten City,
Franke,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Iggy Pop,
Mary Jane Girls,
Infiniti,
Ronnie Foster,
Shuggie Otis,
Von Mondo,
Absolute Body Control,
Piero Umiliani,
Josef K,
Mission of Burma,
The Victims,
The Monks,
Harmonia,
Masters at Work,
The Selecter,
Prince Buster,
Hasil Adkins,
The Misunderstood,
Junior Murvin,
Marvin Gaye,
Flipper,
Glenn Branca,
Youth Brigade,
The Cowsills,
Quantec,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Marshall Jefferson,
Boz Scaggs,
Scratch Acid,
Eden Ahbez,
Toni Rubio,
Gabor Szabo,
The Sonics,
Avey Tare,
Barry Ungar,
Public Enemy,
Kerrie Biddell,
Desert Stars,
June of 44,
Groovy Waters,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Japan,
DNA,
Slave,
Deadbeat,
Todd Terry,
K-Klass,
Slick Rick,
Heaven 17,
Alice Coltrane,
Rosa Yemen,
Young Marble Giants,
Angry Samoans,
Kenny Larkin,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Jerry's Kids,
PIL, PIL, PIL, PIL.
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.