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 Ecuador and from Accra.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Seoul.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Mark Hollis to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Cabaret Voltaire. All the underground hits.
All Cluster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lower 48,
Dorothy Ashby,
Minny Pops,
Funky Four + One,
AZ,
Masters at Work,
Roger Hodgson,
Toni Rubio,
Mars,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Spandau Ballet,
Eddi Front,
DNA,
the Sonics,
Chrome,
Jacob Miller,
The Golliwogs,
Charles Mingus,
The Smoke,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Toasters,
The Buckinghams,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Deadbeat,
World's Most,
Ossler,
Rufus Thomas,
T.S.O.L.,
The Detroit Cobras,
Ken Boothe,
Avey Tare,
The Pop Group,
H. Thieme,
Reagan Youth,
Marine Girls,
Surgeon,
Fela Kuti,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Tubeway Army,
The Residents,
The Happenings,
The Moody Blues,
DJ Style,
Vainqueur,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Electric Prunes,
Newcleus,
Radiopuhelimet,
Bronski Beat,
Pole,
Aural Exciters,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Letta Mbulu,
Bizarre Inc.,
Dark Day,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
John Holt,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Eric Copeland,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
48th St. Collective,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Last Poets, The Last Poets, The Last Poets, The Last Poets.
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.