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 Tunisia and from Philadelphia.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Cheater Slicks to the rock 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 Cybotron. All the underground hits.
All Alison Limerick tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Mighty Diamonds 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Massinfluence 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?
Frankie Knuckles,
Lindisfarne,
the Normal,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Visage,
Bill Near,
Sparks,
The Beau Brummels,
MDC,
The Walker Brothers,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Davy DMX,
Ronan,
Young Marble Giants,
UT,
Gong,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Scientists,
Boz Scaggs,
Blake Baxter,
June Days,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Al Stewart,
Camouflage,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
This Heat,
Massinfluence,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Avey Tare,
Angry Samoans,
Schoolly D,
Minnie Riperton,
AZ,
The Music Machine,
Jacques Brel,
Roger Hodgson,
The Zeros,
X-101,
The Angels of Light,
The Index,
Panda Bear,
Peter and Kerry,
Roxy Music,
The Dirtbombs,
Reagan Youth,
Basic Channel,
Terry Callier,
Sam Rivers,
Carl Craig,
Cal Tjader,
Scott Walker,
Unrelated Segments,
the Bar-Kays,
Flipper,
The Raincoats,
Eve St. Jones,
Crash Course in Science,
The Standells,
X-Ray Spex,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Stockholm Monsters,
Severed Heads,
Pussy Galore,
Brick,
Louis and Bebe Barron, Louis and Bebe Barron, Louis and Bebe Barron, Louis and Bebe Barron.
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.