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 Qatar and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 H. Thieme to the grime kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Man Eating Sloth. All the underground hits.
All Moss Icon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tommy Roe 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 güiro and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a La Düsseldorf record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eyeless In Gaza,
Wally Richardson,
Isaac Hayes,
Ken Boothe,
Shuggie Otis,
The Alarm Clocks,
Bobby Sherman,
F. McDonald,
Buzzcocks,
Sam Rivers,
Ultimate Spinach,
Grauzone,
The Gladiators,
Hashim,
Patti Smith,
Ronan,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Arab on Radar,
Alton Ellis,
Eric B and Rakim,
Television,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Cheater Slicks,
Public Image Ltd.,
Make Up,
DNA,
Bronski Beat,
June of 44,
The Last Poets,
Con Funk Shun,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Kaleidoscope,
Model 500,
Ice-T,
Heaven 17,
Davy DMX,
Sugar Minott,
Idris Muhammad,
Jeru the Damaja,
Moss Icon,
8 Eyed Spy,
Dead Boys,
Scrapy,
Minor Threat,
Surgeon,
Danielle Patucci,
Alphaville,
Dennis Brown,
the Normal,
Unwound,
Parry Music,
The Blackbyrds,
Arthur Verocai,
Roxette,
Cal Tjader,
Bob Dylan,
Interpol,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Bang On A Can,
Spandau Ballet,
Severed Heads,
Roger Hodgson,
Metal Thangz,
Derrick Morgan,
The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C.
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.