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 Guinea-Bissau and from Portland.
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 Bologna and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 crunk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 One Last Wish tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Funky Four + One record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sister Nancy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jeff Lynne,
Althea and Donna,
H. Thieme,
the Germs,
Panda Bear,
Terry Callier,
Joy Division,
Sex Pistols,
Motorama,
Matthew Halsall,
Aloha Tigers,
The Standells,
The Last Poets,
The J.B.'s,
John Cale,
Amazonics,
June of 44,
Crispian St. Peters,
Royal Trux,
the Bar-Kays,
The Shadows of Knight,
T. Rex,
Simply Red,
E-Dancer,
The Skatalites,
The Count Five,
Aural Exciters,
The Music Machine,
Sällskapet,
Drive Like Jehu,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Rod Modell,
Flamin' Groovies,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Velvet Underground,
Sugar Minott,
The Barracudas,
Janne Schatter,
Mars,
Soft Cell,
Peter & Gordon,
Intrusion,
The Names,
The Divine Comedy,
Icehouse,
Gong,
Nation of Ulysses,
Magma,
The Doors,
Eli Mardock,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Lalann,
Public Enemy,
Unwound,
Kevin Saunderson,
T.S.O.L.,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Durutti Column,
The Birthday Party,
Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama.
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.