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 Burundi and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 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 Frankie Knuckles to the jazz kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 The Flesh Eaters. All the underground hits.
All Magazine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Pop Group 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tropical Tobacco record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Misunderstood,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Last Poets,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Reuben Wilson,
The Moleskins,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Dorothy Ashby,
Technova,
Roger Hodgson,
Talk Talk,
Chris & Cosey,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Index,
Eddi Front,
FM Einheit,
Grandmaster Flash,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Flesh Eaters,
Groovy Waters,
Jeff Mills,
Warren Ellis,
Sam Rivers,
Anthony Braxton,
The Human League,
Warsaw,
a-ha,
The Doobie Brothers,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Don Cherry,
Lower 48,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Subhumans,
ABBA,
The Music Machine,
John Foxx,
the Swans,
These Immortal Souls,
Brand Nubian,
Monolake,
John Coltrane,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Deakin,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Intrusion,
Ten City,
The Dirtbombs,
Jeff Lynne,
Black Bananas,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Radio Birdman,
La Düsseldorf,
Ituana,
Lalann,
Skriet,
Matthew Halsall,
Fatback Band,
Graham Central Station,
The Moody Blues,
The Smiths, The Smiths, The Smiths, The Smiths.
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.