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 Monaco and from Seoul.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade to the punk 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 David Bowie. All the underground hits.
All a-ha tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispy Ambulance record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Popol Vuh record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gastr Del Sol,
Duran Duran,
Brothers Johnson,
Arthur Verocai,
Drexciya,
Bronski Beat,
Tears for Fears,
Black Bananas,
Easy Going,
The Names,
Minnie Riperton,
The Birthday Party,
Ornette Coleman,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Max Romeo,
Hashim,
The J.B.'s,
Deakin,
Mars,
The Mojo Men,
PIL,
Delon & Dalcan,
Crash Course in Science,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Tubeway Army,
Derrick Morgan,
Procol Harum,
Zero Boys,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Sandy B,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Divine Comedy,
Smog,
Idris Muhammad,
Absolute Body Control,
The Buckinghams,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Ossler,
Spoonie Gee,
Dennis Brown,
Cameo,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Freddie Wadling,
Mr. Review,
Mo-Dettes,
Qualms,
Clear Light,
Soul II Soul,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Shadows of Knight,
Organ,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Suicide,
The Star Department,
Sarah Menescal,
John Lydon,
Fat Boys,
Little Man,
the Normal,
Steve Hackett,
Pussy Galore,
Sparks, Sparks, Sparks, Sparks.
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.