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 Bulgaria and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 organ 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 Gories to the grunge 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 Guru Guru. All the underground hits.
All Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Camberwell Now record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 an oboe and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Saccharine Trust record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Moby Grape,
Marcia Griffiths,
Swell Maps,
Rufus Thomas,
Grandmaster Flash,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Barrington Levy,
Mandrill,
Bush Tetras,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
June of 44,
Nik Kershaw,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Steve Hackett,
Mo-Dettes,
The Seeds,
Man Parrish,
Kerrie Biddell,
Avey Tare,
Bob Dylan,
Tommy Roe,
Hardrive,
Davy DMX,
The Martian,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
cv313,
Motorama,
Procol Harum,
Cameo,
Von Mondo,
Chris Corsano,
Sun Ra,
Harpers Bizarre,
ABBA,
Yaz,
The Durutti Column,
MDC,
Ludus,
Joe Finger,
Schoolly D,
Negative Approach,
The Music Machine,
Anakelly,
Graham Central Station,
Mission of Burma,
Johnny Osbourne,
Kayak,
The Kinks,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Drexciya,
Junior Murvin,
Television,
The Detroit Cobras,
Kerri Chandler,
Harry Pussy,
Hot Snakes,
Sex Pistols,
Gregory Isaacs,
Ronnie Foster,
A Certain Ratio,
The Wake,
Theoretical Girls, Theoretical Girls, Theoretical Girls, Theoretical Girls.
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.