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 Montenegro and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and London.
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 Captain Beefheart 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 Arab on Radar to the crunk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All Agent Orange tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tomorrow record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a harpsichord 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 clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Agent Orange,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Kenny Larkin,
Television,
Drexciya,
Morten Harket,
Youth Brigade,
Sex Pistols,
Oneida,
Drive Like Jehu,
Matthew Bourne,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Index,
Anakelly,
The Residents,
KRS-One,
the Human League,
Peter & Gordon,
The Golliwogs,
The Names,
Roxette,
Slave,
Mark Hollis,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Magma,
Q and Not U,
Yellowson,
Jacques Brel,
X-Ray Spex,
Lower 48,
The Blues Magoos,
Nik Kershaw,
The Pretty Things,
The Divine Comedy,
Sandy B,
The Velvet Underground,
Black Bananas,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Misunderstood,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Carl Craig,
Trumans Water,
Essential Logic,
Niagra,
T.S.O.L.,
Colin Newman,
The Sonics,
Roger Hodgson,
The Invisible,
Stetsasonic,
Ponytail,
The Smiths,
The Smoke,
Sarah Menescal,
Flipper,
Wings,
Tommy Roe,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Kerri Chandler,
Can,
Country Teasers,
Kas Product,
The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column.
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.