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 Kosovo and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 rhodes 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 Charles Mingus to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 The Count Five. All the underground hits.
All Quantec tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dead Boys record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 spring reverb and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Mummies,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Kerri Chandler,
Suicide,
Dennis Brown,
Banda Bassotti,
Sister Nancy,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Maleditus Sound,
Tres Demented,
Main Source,
Tropical Tobacco,
Dark Day,
Avey Tare,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
T. Rex,
Spandau Ballet,
Camouflage,
Sight & Sound,
Fatback Band,
Jeff Lynne,
Whodini,
Dead Boys,
The Gories,
Piero Umiliani,
Groovy Waters,
The Stooges,
Erykah Badu,
Black Pus,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Aloha Tigers,
Pierre Henry,
Marine Girls,
Bill Near,
Beasts of Bourbon,
David Bowie,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Electric Prunes,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Marvin Gaye,
Lower 48,
Chrome,
Pole,
The Fuzztones,
Jawbox,
The Real Kids,
The Gun Club,
Eddi Front,
Parry Music,
The Dave Clark Five,
Boz Scaggs,
B.T. Express,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Technova,
The Remains,
Q and Not U,
Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy.
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.