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 Denmark and from Lagos.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Beijing.
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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Crispian St. Peters to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Buzzcocks. All the underground hits.
All The Angels of Light tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every X-Ray Spex record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mo-Dettes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
China Crisis,
Bad Manners,
Stetsasonic,
Desert Stars,
Minnie Riperton,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Seeds,
The Move,
The Evens,
Banda Bassotti,
Sugar Minott,
Clear Light,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
JFA,
Fela Kuti,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Joy Division,
Brick,
Arab on Radar,
Andrew Hill,
James White and The Blacks,
Pussy Galore,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Isaac Hayes,
Nation of Ulysses,
Lucky Dragons,
Robert Hood,
Flipper,
Section 25,
Deepchord,
Royal Trux,
Goldenarms,
Prince Buster,
The Black Dice,
The Dirtbombs,
Soul II Soul,
Average White Band,
Wings,
Steve Hackett,
Maurizio,
B.T. Express,
Tim Buckley,
The Litter,
The Fugs,
the Swans,
Chrome,
Jimmy McGriff,
Youth Brigade,
The Neon Judgement,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Human League,
Wolf Eyes,
Pet Shop Boys,
Jeru the Damaja,
Subhumans,
Connie Case,
Visage,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Eve St. Jones,
Terrestrial Tones,
Ossler,
Lalann,
Roger Hodgson,
Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox.
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.