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 Turkmenistan and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Bush Tetras 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 Scratch Acid. All the underground hits.
All Q and Not U tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Sonics record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a World's Most record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Trojans,
Howard Jones,
the Slits,
Porter Ricks,
Animal Collective,
Arab on Radar,
Pantytec,
The Evens,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Knickerbockers,
Letta Mbulu,
F. McDonald,
Moby Grape,
The Cramps,
Aaron Thompson,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
One Last Wish,
Eli Mardock,
Panda Bear,
Bang On A Can,
Gil Scott Heron,
Sonic Youth,
John Lydon,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Big Daddy Kane,
Cameo,
Jeru the Damaja,
X-Ray Spex,
Lyres,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Robert Görl,
New York Dolls,
Niagra,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Mary Jane Girls,
Soft Cell,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Terry Callier,
Monks,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Blackbyrds,
Mission of Burma,
The Saints,
Joensuu 1685,
FM Einheit,
The Human League,
Franke,
Harpers Bizarre,
Television,
Iggy Pop,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Freddie Wadling,
Stereo Dub,
Television Personalities,
Henry Cow,
The Martian,
The Standells,
Main Source,
Echospace,
The Dirtbombs,
Country Teasers, Country Teasers, Country Teasers, Country Teasers.
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.