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 Venezuela and from Hong Kong.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Fat Boys to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Alison Limerick. All the underground hits.
All Theoretical Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every June Days record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Gun Club record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cameo,
The Smiths,
Gichy Dan,
Soul Sonic Force,
Adolescents,
X-101,
Lyres,
Vainqueur,
Au Pairs,
Beasts of Bourbon,
cv313,
The Knickerbockers,
Siglo XX,
Sällskapet,
Roy Ayers,
the Sonics,
Ronan,
David Axelrod,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Brothers Johnson,
Tommy Roe,
Television,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Peter & Gordon,
Duran Duran,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Los Fastidios,
EPMD,
Loose Ends,
Scan 7,
Janne Schatter,
Prince Buster,
Rod Modell,
Zapp,
Mission of Burma,
Television Personalities,
Marine Girls,
Malaria!,
Swell Maps,
Throbbing Gristle,
Buzzcocks,
Charles Mingus,
Laurel Aitken,
Suicide,
Yusef Lateef,
The Sound,
Harpers Bizarre,
Aaron Thompson,
Amon Düül II,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Max Romeo,
Derrick Morgan,
The Fortunes,
The Selecter,
Lucky Dragons,
Quantec,
JFA,
Archie Shepp,
Blossom Toes,
Procol Harum,
Scratch Acid,
Panda Bear,
Black Bananas,
Supertramp, Supertramp, Supertramp, Supertramp.
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.