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 Switzerland and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 snare 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 Harmonia to the funk 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 Khruangbin. All the underground hits.
All a-ha tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Richard Hell and the Voidoids record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Unrelated Segments record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eric B and Rakim,
The Smiths,
Make Up,
T.S.O.L.,
Matthew Bourne,
Liliput,
Brothers Johnson,
Isaac Hayes,
Tears for Fears,
Stockholm Monsters,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Doors,
Magma,
8 Eyed Spy,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Gladiators,
Urselle,
La Düsseldorf,
Quando Quango,
Agent Orange,
Scott Walker,
Scion,
Johnny Clarke,
Funky Four + One,
Ponytail,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Leonard Cohen,
Rites of Spring,
Franke,
Soft Cell,
Kerrie Biddell,
Tres Demented,
Robert Hood,
Drive Like Jehu,
F. McDonald,
Janne Schatter,
Gastr Del Sol,
Spoonie Gee,
The Human League,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Young Rascals,
Marvin Gaye,
The Gap Band,
Flash Fearless,
Henry Cow,
One Last Wish,
The Gories,
The Grass Roots,
Avey Tare,
Ornette Coleman,
Hot Snakes,
The Black Dice,
Steve Hackett,
Connie Case,
Japan,
Charles Mingus,
Khruangbin,
Wire,
Cymande,
Whodini,
Black Pus,
Boz Scaggs,
Con Funk Shun,
Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion.
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.