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 Norway and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 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 The Litter to the funk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Tropical Tobacco. All the underground hits.
All Massinfluence tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cheater Slicks 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stereo Dub record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Index,
Joey Negro,
the Normal,
PIL,
Bronski Beat,
The Fugs,
Soft Machine,
Hot Snakes,
Index,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Morten Harket,
Kurtis Blow,
Depeche Mode,
Ice-T,
Oblivians,
Harry Pussy,
Anthony Braxton,
Lindisfarne,
Public Image Ltd.,
Lou Christie,
Metal Thangz,
Idris Muhammad,
Joe Smooth,
Mary Jane Girls,
Technova,
Todd Terry,
The Happenings,
Graham Central Station,
The Litter,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Bobby Byrd,
Kaleidoscope,
Derrick Morgan,
Subhumans,
Pylon,
Duran Duran,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Intrusion,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Howard Jones,
Suicide,
Hoover,
Aaron Thompson,
Ultimate Spinach,
Eurythmics,
Khruangbin,
Grey Daturas,
Youth Brigade,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Divine Comedy,
Avey Tare,
Von Mondo,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Fuzztones,
Yusef Lateef,
The Angels of Light,
The Birthday Party,
Carl Craig,
Popol Vuh,
Whodini,
New York Dolls, New York Dolls, New York Dolls, New York Dolls.
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.