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 Brazil and from Accra.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 De La Soul & Jungle Brothers to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Cabaret Voltaire. All the underground hits.
All Cabaret Voltaire tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Aloha Tigers 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Pop Group record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Yellowson,
Shuggie Otis,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Echospace,
Vladislav Delay,
Joyce Sims,
The Star Department,
Robert Görl,
the Fania All-Stars,
Visage,
Reuben Wilson,
James White and The Blacks,
Archie Shepp,
Country Teasers,
Niagra,
The Music Machine,
Saccharine Trust,
Aloha Tigers,
Nation of Ulysses,
Mission of Burma,
Michelle Simonal,
World's Most,
The Young Rascals,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Nico,
Throbbing Gristle,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Chrome,
Soft Cell,
Subhumans,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Eddi Front,
AZ,
Sonny Sharrock,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Bob Dylan,
Pere Ubu,
Davy DMX,
The Last Poets,
Yazoo,
Electric Prunes,
Marc Almond,
The Durutti Column,
The Gladiators,
Liliput,
New Age Steppers,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
John Cale,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Skatalites,
Soul II Soul,
Los Fastidios,
Circle Jerks,
Zero Boys,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Happenings,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Faraquet,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Ten City,
Heavy D & The Boyz, Heavy D & The Boyz, Heavy D & The Boyz, Heavy D & The Boyz.
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.