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 Ireland and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Drexciya to the crunk 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 The Electric Prunes. All the underground hits.
All Swans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every B.T. Express 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Smog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Sheep,
Khruangbin,
Blossom Toes,
Amon Düül II,
Wings,
Magma,
Loose Ends,
Outsiders,
Byron Stingily,
Maurizio,
Matthew Halsall,
The Skatalites,
Negative Approach,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Doobie Brothers,
Siglo XX,
Duran Duran,
Johnny Osbourne,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Ten City,
Aloha Tigers,
The Cure,
The Seeds,
X-Ray Spex,
The Five Americans,
Gabor Szabo,
Dennis Brown,
The Selecter,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Gichy Dan,
Arthur Verocai,
Black Pus,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Howard Jones,
Kerrie Biddell,
Pulsallama,
Crooked Eye,
Boz Scaggs,
New Age Steppers,
Harry Pussy,
E-Dancer,
Letta Mbulu,
The Evens,
John Coltrane,
Sam Rivers,
Tomorrow,
Quantec,
Visage,
Can,
Das Ding,
Prince Buster,
Nirvana,
Glenn Branca,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Moebius,
Ohio Players,
The Victims,
Black Flag,
The Neon Judgement,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Grass Roots,
The United States of America, The United States of America, The United States of America, The United States of America.
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.