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 Guatemala and from Houston.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Beijing.
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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Todd Rundgren to the punk 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 Tommy Roe. All the underground hits.
All Nico tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Selector Dub Narcotic record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang of Four record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Idris Muhammad,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Kinks,
LL Cool J,
Alphaville,
Quadrant,
The Sound,
Panda Bear,
Black Moon,
The Music Machine,
The Techniques,
Glenn Branca,
Steve Hackett,
The Standells,
Funky Four + One,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Quando Quango,
Yazoo,
Suburban Knight,
Pantaleimon,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Glambeats Corp.,
Mars,
B.T. Express,
The Stooges,
Adolescents,
Bob Dylan,
Blossom Toes,
Colin Newman,
Ronnie Foster,
Delon & Dalcan,
The New Christs,
The Alarm Clocks,
David Axelrod,
The Invisible,
Deepchord,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Motions,
The United States of America,
Curtis Mayfield,
Jeru the Damaja,
Jawbox,
Model 500,
Kenny Larkin,
X-101,
Echospace,
the Germs,
The Durutti Column,
Ken Boothe,
Infiniti,
Magma,
Ronan,
Pere Ubu,
Drexciya,
Tres Demented,
The Zeros,
Smog,
Procol Harum,
Donny Hathaway,
Bill Wells,
DNA,
Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus.
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.