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 Bangladesh and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Houston.
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 Rahsaan Roland Kirk to the electroclash kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud. All the underground hits.
All The Star Department tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Martian record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mary Jane Girls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Kinks,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Sandy B,
Marmalade,
Buzzcocks,
Terry Callier,
Rosa Yemen,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Nirvana,
Porter Ricks,
This Heat,
Alphaville,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Happenings,
Lungfish,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Joey Negro,
the Fania All-Stars,
48th St. Collective,
The Mummies,
Scan 7,
The Sonics,
Morten Harket,
Bronski Beat,
Trumans Water,
The Skatalites,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Moss Icon,
Slave,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Young Rascals,
Funkadelic,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
ABBA,
Scrapy,
Graham Central Station,
the Normal,
The Evens,
Mary Jane Girls,
Sällskapet,
Jacques Brel,
La Düsseldorf,
Niagra,
Sexual Harrassment,
Lou Christie,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Mission of Burma,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Electric Prunes,
The Seeds,
Derrick May,
Idris Muhammad,
Young Marble Giants,
Main Source,
Todd Rundgren,
Spoonie Gee,
Cecil Taylor,
Adolescents,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Subhumans,
Tropical Tobacco,
Sugar Minott,
B.T. Express, B.T. Express, B.T. Express, B.T. Express.
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.