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 Liechtenstein and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 arpeggiator 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 Robert Wyatt to the punk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Public Enemy. All the underground hits.
All The Litter tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lonnie Liston Smith record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Soul Sonic Force record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
John Coltrane,
Supertramp,
Rufus Thomas,
Talk Talk,
The Dead C,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Victims,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Gang Starr,
Porter Ricks,
This Heat,
The Buckinghams,
World's Most,
Soft Machine,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Freddie Wadling,
June of 44,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Ultra Naté,
The Black Dice,
The United States of America,
John Cale,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Raincoats,
X-101,
CMW,
The Slits,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Symarip,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Wings,
Archie Shepp,
Japan,
Duran Duran,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Albert Ayler,
Moebius,
Camberwell Now,
Procol Harum,
Scan 7,
Mission of Burma,
the Normal,
Maurizio,
Qualms,
Lalo Schifrin,
Quando Quango,
The Misunderstood,
James White and The Blacks,
Kayak,
The Red Krayola,
Roy Ayers,
Brass Construction,
Boogie Down Productions,
Newcleus,
Roxy Music,
Gerry Rafferty,
Kas Product,
The Offenders,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Rakim,
Magma,
The American Breed,
Chrome,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids, Richard Hell and the Voidoids, Richard Hell and the Voidoids, Richard Hell and the Voidoids.
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.