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 Vanuatu and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 guitar 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 Pussy Galore 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 Camouflage. All the underground hits.
All Scott Walker tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brass Construction record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Faust,
Section 25,
The Trojans,
Shoche,
U.S. Maple,
Sister Nancy,
Man Parrish,
Masters at Work,
Tubeway Army,
Max Romeo,
Cluster,
Trumans Water,
Y Pants,
The Fortunes,
A Certain Ratio,
Stetsasonic,
D'Angelo,
Robert Görl,
Depeche Mode,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Camberwell Now,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Skarface,
K-Klass,
Ultra Naté,
The Electric Prunes,
Pet Shop Boys,
the Slits,
Drive Like Jehu,
Harpers Bizarre,
Roy Ayers,
Au Pairs,
This Heat,
Josef K,
the Human League,
ABC,
Country Teasers,
Rakim,
Amon Düül II,
Silicon Teens,
Kayak,
Albert Ayler,
LL Cool J,
John Foxx,
Iggy Pop,
Absolute Body Control,
Roxette,
The Cramps,
Dark Day,
Bootsy Collins,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Remains,
Sexual Harrassment,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
DJ Sneak,
Electric Prunes,
Sugar Minott,
Bobby Byrd,
The Star Department,
The Kinks,
Grandmaster Flash,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Gabor Szabo,
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.
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.