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 Kazakhstan and from Lyon.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 808 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 Sonics to the techno 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 Robert Hood. All the underground hits.
All Glenn Branca tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barclay James Harvest record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gabor Szabo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Con Funk Shun,
Bobby Womack,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Jeru the Damaja,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Doors,
Malaria!,
John Coltrane,
Funky Four + One,
Yusef Lateef,
Cecil Taylor,
Aural Exciters,
Stiv Bators,
Swell Maps,
the Human League,
Harpers Bizarre,
June Days,
Amazonics,
Byron Stingily,
Tubeway Army,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
DJ Style,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Radiohead,
Barbara Tucker,
Girls At Our Best!,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Jacques Brel,
K-Klass,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Television,
Minor Threat,
Intrusion,
Echospace,
The Detroit Cobras,
Barry Ungar,
Sexual Harrassment,
Vladislav Delay,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Young Rascals,
Saccharine Trust,
Mantronix,
Patti Smith,
Minutemen,
Whodini,
Scientists,
Chrome,
The Misunderstood,
Inner City,
The J.B.'s,
UT,
Dawn Penn,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Selecter,
Jerry's Kids,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Bronski Beat,
The Buckinghams,
Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore, Pussy Galore.
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.