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 Kuwait and from Sao Paulo.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 John Cale to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 One Last Wish. All the underground hits.
All Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Cramps record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Siglo XX record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cameo,
Pussy Galore,
Los Fastidios,
The Modern Lovers,
Interpol,
Crime,
Harmonia,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
a-ha,
Qualms,
Ornette Coleman,
Morten Harket,
Mark Hollis,
Steve Hackett,
The Knickerbockers,
Rekid,
In Retrospect,
Andrew Hill,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Erasure,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Techniques,
Oneida,
Barrington Levy,
Cybotron,
Mary Jane Girls,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Mad Mike,
Kevin Saunderson,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Lungfish,
Cymande,
Theoretical Girls,
Marine Girls,
Kaleidoscope,
Metal Thangz,
Ludus,
Suburban Knight,
Pere Ubu,
The Fortunes,
Japan,
the Fania All-Stars,
Robert Hood,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Bobby Womack,
Young Marble Giants,
Porter Ricks,
The Alarm Clocks,
Cluster,
La Düsseldorf,
Pantytec,
Toni Rubio,
Scrapy,
Mission of Burma,
Nils Olav,
Sex Pistols,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Ultra Naté,
Das Ding,
Liliput,
Dark Day,
Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas.
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.