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 Tuvalu and from Beijing.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 John Coltrane to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 John Holt. All the underground hits.
All The Cowsills tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Angry Samoans 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terrestrial Tones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Zapp,
Visage,
The Dirtbombs,
Hoover,
Pere Ubu,
OOIOO,
Jimmy McGriff,
Accadde A,
Sparks,
Whodini,
Michelle Simonal,
Talk Talk,
The Doors,
Tres Demented,
Black Sheep,
The Walker Brothers,
Jesper Dahlback,
DJ Sneak,
Sällskapet,
Pagans,
The Doobie Brothers,
Barrington Levy,
Das Ding,
Pylon,
Harpers Bizarre,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Ponytail,
The Red Krayola,
The Barracudas,
Kenny Larkin,
Organ,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Brass Construction,
Mad Mike,
KRS-One,
the Association,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Laurel Aitken,
Donald Byrd,
Matthew Halsall,
Nils Olav,
The Cowsills,
Oblivians,
Spoonie Gee,
Freddie Wadling,
Terrestrial Tones,
Rufus Thomas,
Ralphi Rosario,
Skarface,
David McCallum,
Man Eating Sloth,
Vladislav Delay,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Charles Mingus,
Colin Newman,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Star Department,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
Jacques Brel,
Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms, Boredoms.
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.