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 Greece and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Standells to the rap 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 Howard Jones. All the underground hits.
All The American Breed tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Angels of Light & Akron/Family record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Derrick May,
PIL,
James White and The Blacks,
Barrington Levy,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Drive Like Jehu,
Gang Green,
Tommy Roe,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Ultravox,
Todd Rundgren,
The Tremeloes,
Deakin,
Sexual Harrassment,
Aloha Tigers,
Moss Icon,
Andrew Hill,
R.M.O.,
Soulsonic Force,
AZ,
The Barracudas,
Liliput,
EPMD,
Accadde A,
Jerry's Kids,
Cheater Slicks,
Average White Band,
Television,
Agitation Free,
Marvin Gaye,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Blancmange,
Gabor Szabo,
Ponytail,
Cluster,
The Mojo Men,
Mission of Burma,
Pagans,
The Litter,
Al Stewart,
The Velvet Underground,
Barbara Tucker,
Terry Callier,
Glenn Branca,
Ludus,
K-Klass,
Wally Richardson,
Japan,
Max Romeo,
Terrestrial Tones,
Newcleus,
One Last Wish,
Marcia Griffiths,
Nik Kershaw,
Lebanon Hanover,
Q and Not U,
Harry Pussy,
Laurel Aitken,
Pharoah Sanders,
Hoover,
Model 500,
Pole, Pole, Pole, Pole.
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.