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 Taiwan and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Salvador.
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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 James Chance & The Contortions to the punk 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 Tropical Tobacco. All the underground hits.
All The Misunderstood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cecil Taylor record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 theremin and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a U.S. Maple record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Matthew Halsall,
Harry Pussy,
The Dirtbombs,
Jerry's Kids,
Gerry Rafferty,
Rekid,
Lalo Schifrin,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Iggy Pop,
X-Ray Spex,
Bob Dylan,
A Certain Ratio,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Excepter,
John Holt,
Grandmaster Flash,
Lightning Bolt,
Rapeman,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
cv313,
Fluxion,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Mandrill,
Pantaleimon,
Laurel Aitken,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Neon Judgement,
Camouflage,
The Smiths,
Terry Callier,
Dawn Penn,
Severed Heads,
Stereo Dub,
Prince Buster,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Ronnie Foster,
Ultimate Spinach,
Morten Harket,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Magazine,
Tom Boy,
Eric B and Rakim,
UT,
Royal Trux,
Fugazi,
David Axelrod,
Rhythm & Sound,
Metal Thangz,
Bobby Womack,
Anthony Braxton,
Qualms,
Soft Cell,
Gil Scott Heron,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Ossler,
Japan,
Flipper,
Robert Hood,
Isaac Hayes,
Big Daddy Kane, Big Daddy Kane, Big Daddy Kane, Big Daddy Kane.
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.