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 Antigua and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band to the disco 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 Television Personalities. All the underground hits.
All Outsiders tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fall record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Schoolly D record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
K-Klass,
Gang of Four,
Popol Vuh,
Rosa Yemen,
Ludus,
Jeff Lynne,
Boredoms,
Bauhaus,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Bobby Hutcherson,
MDC,
Grandmaster Flash,
Cymande,
Lungfish,
Scion,
Mars,
The Slackers,
Prince Buster,
Al Stewart,
Royal Trux,
The Durutti Column,
Sound Behaviour,
The American Breed,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Archie Shepp,
The Seeds,
Thee Headcoats,
James White and The Blacks,
Schoolly D,
The Leaves,
Howard Jones,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Iggy Pop,
Mark Hollis,
The Busters,
Average White Band,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Pantytec,
Bobby Sherman,
Joe Smooth,
Basic Channel,
Lee Hazlewood,
Pulsallama,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Sam Rivers,
Dark Day,
Bad Manners,
The Golliwogs,
Hoover,
Tommy Roe,
Robert Wyatt,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Charles Mingus,
Q65,
Oblivians,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Barrington Levy,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Aaron Thompson, Aaron Thompson, Aaron Thompson, Aaron Thompson.
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.