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 Croatia and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 marimba 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 Deakin to the funk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Second Layer. All the underground hits.
All A Flock of Seagulls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Sonics record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 güiro and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Slick Rick record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Smog,
Grandmaster Flash,
Charles Mingus,
48th St. Collective,
H. Thieme,
Niagra,
Brass Construction,
the Slits,
DNA,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Marc Almond,
The Moleskins,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
DJ Sneak,
Sam Rivers,
Depeche Mode,
The Trojans,
Bronski Beat,
Fluxion,
Bill Wells,
The Knickerbockers,
Black Pus,
Derrick May,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Tropical Tobacco,
Sparks,
Ludus,
Procol Harum,
Kayak,
Deadbeat,
Joyce Sims,
Jawbox,
Cecil Taylor,
Boz Scaggs,
Mad Mike,
The New Christs,
Sexual Harrassment,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Fortunes,
One Last Wish,
Barry Ungar,
Amon Düül II,
Parry Music,
Massinfluence,
The Sonics,
Rites of Spring,
Crispy Ambulance,
Jimmy McGriff,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Lee Hazlewood,
Mr. Review,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Crash Course in Science,
Second Layer,
The Music Machine,
Derrick Morgan,
Goldenarms,
Grauzone,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Jacques Brel,
Davy DMX,
Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler.
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.