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 Taiwan and from Beijing.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Gichy Dan to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band. All the underground hits.
All Whodini tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Walker Brothers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Quadrant record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Procol Harum,
The Vogues,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Lalo Schifrin,
Kayak,
Barrington Levy,
Ituana,
DJ Sneak,
The Human League,
John Lydon,
Tom Boy,
The Velvet Underground,
Arthur Verocai,
Hoover,
Robert Hood,
Scratch Acid,
Tears for Fears,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Letta Mbulu,
Silicon Teens,
H. Thieme,
Jeru the Damaja,
Archie Shepp,
Country Teasers,
Man Parrish,
The Cramps,
The Busters,
Make Up,
Spoonie Gee,
The Offenders,
U.S. Maple,
The J.B.'s,
Scion,
Bluetip,
Drexciya,
Marshall Jefferson,
Blossom Toes,
Index,
The Dead C,
Gil Scott Heron,
Brothers Johnson,
The Standells,
JFA,
Gerry Rafferty,
Tropical Tobacco,
Franke,
The Slits,
The Pretty Things,
Masters at Work,
Boredoms,
Quantec,
The Searchers,
Roy Ayers,
Dave Gahan,
X-102,
Kaleidoscope,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Flipper,
Rites of Spring,
Bob Dylan,
The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos.
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.