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 Iraq and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 Holger Czukay 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 Donny Hathaway to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Smiths. All the underground hits.
All Patti Smith tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scott Walker + Sunn O))) record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Skriet record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
KRS-One,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
ABBA,
T. Rex,
Heaven 17,
Monks,
Dead Boys,
Duran Duran,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Birthday Party,
Harry Pussy,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Letta Mbulu,
The Fire Engines,
This Heat,
Terry Callier,
The Doors,
Desert Stars,
Radiohead,
the Normal,
Cheater Slicks,
Brass Construction,
Fluxion,
Robert Hood,
Harpers Bizarre,
the Human League,
The Red Krayola,
Sexual Harrassment,
U.S. Maple,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Eve St. Jones,
Robert Wyatt,
Peter and Kerry,
Warsaw,
Franke,
Urselle,
Delta 5,
The Music Machine,
Sarah Menescal,
Al Stewart,
Absolute Body Control,
Visage,
Theoretical Girls,
Shoche,
Oneida,
Camouflage,
Slick Rick,
June of 44,
FM Einheit,
The Trojans,
Gong,
Pharoah Sanders,
Nas,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Velvet Underground,
Wolf Eyes,
Tropical Tobacco,
Bill Near,
Buzzcocks,
The Mummies,
The Detroit Cobras,
David McCallum,
Can, Can, Can, Can.
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.