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 Morocco and from Hong Kong.
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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 David Bowie 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 ABBA to the jazz kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Eve St. Jones. All the underground hits.
All Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Main Source record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rites of Spring record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
B.T. Express,
Rites of Spring,
cv313,
Bang On A Can,
Steve Hackett,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Soft Cell,
La Düsseldorf,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bizarre Inc.,
Harmonia,
Rakim,
Interpol,
Malaria!,
Al Stewart,
Brothers Johnson,
Tom Boy,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
the Bar-Kays,
the Swans,
Whodini,
The Skatalites,
Angry Samoans,
Fear,
Country Teasers,
Television,
Nas,
Marmalade,
Cymande,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Aaron Thompson,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Can,
Mandrill,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Flesh Eaters,
Con Funk Shun,
Depeche Mode,
Aswad,
Gerry Rafferty,
Procol Harum,
Sex Pistols,
Second Layer,
Reagan Youth,
Metal Thangz,
The Techniques,
Tomorrow,
Ice-T,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Nico,
Gang Green,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Hasil Adkins,
Black Pus,
Pole,
The Slits,
Barrington Levy,
Das Ding,
Ralphi Rosario,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Negative Approach,
Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin, Junior Murvin.
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.