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 Zimbabwe and from Paris.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Angels of Light to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Bob Dylan. All the underground hits.
All The Alarm Clocks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispian St. Peters 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Real Kids,
K-Klass,
Wolf Eyes,
The Music Machine,
Sex Pistols,
Pet Shop Boys,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Man Parrish,
Gang Gang Dance,
AZ,
Bad Manners,
Joy Division,
Bush Tetras,
Nas,
Can,
R.M.O.,
Surgeon,
H. Thieme,
Ultravox,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Idris Muhammad,
Faraquet,
Tomorrow,
The Smiths,
The Fire Engines,
U.S. Maple,
The Skatalites,
Harpers Bizarre,
Nik Kershaw,
The Martian,
Fatback Band,
Swell Maps,
Bob Dylan,
Dawn Penn,
DNA,
Gerry Rafferty,
Animal Collective,
Aloha Tigers,
Lalo Schifrin,
Crispian St. Peters,
Scientists,
The Gladiators,
Gang Starr,
Organ,
Half Japanese,
Derrick May,
Jawbox,
Bill Near,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Josef K,
Second Layer,
The Walker Brothers,
Grey Daturas,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Mojo Men,
Pole,
UT,
Juan Atkins,
The Dead C,
Roxette,
The Busters, The Busters, The Busters, The Busters.
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.