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 Djibouti and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 F. McDonald to the punk 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 June of 44. All the underground hits.
All Public Image Ltd. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Aural Exciters 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sällskapet,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Grass Roots,
Smog,
Rakim,
John Cale,
The Fall,
Bluetip,
the Swans,
the Sonics,
Isaac Hayes,
Boredoms,
X-102,
Youth Brigade,
Mandrill,
Electric Prunes,
Joe Finger,
Chris Corsano,
Joyce Sims,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Rekid,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Cybotron,
Maleditus Sound,
Thompson Twins,
Heaven 17,
Wings,
Index,
Bush Tetras,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Blake Baxter,
Lyres,
Funkadelic,
Glambeats Corp.,
Slick Rick,
Ronnie Foster,
The Cure,
Masters at Work,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Seeds,
Grey Daturas,
Sun City Girls,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Interpol,
Tubeway Army,
Supertramp,
Bobby Hutcherson,
the Slits,
Dawn Penn,
Silicon Teens,
Surgeon,
Prince Buster,
a-ha,
The Fuzztones,
Davy DMX,
Camberwell Now,
Buzzcocks,
Suicide,
Lightning Bolt,
Quantec,
Scan 7,
Leonard Cohen,
Kool Moe Dee, Kool Moe Dee, Kool Moe Dee, Kool Moe Dee.
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.