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 Panama and from Glasgow.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan to the funk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Rites of Spring. All the underground hits.
All Crispian St. Peters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Grey Daturas 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Main Source record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suburban Knight,
Ken Boothe,
Carl Craig,
Animal Collective,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
X-101,
Grey Daturas,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Quando Quango,
T. Rex,
Fort Wilson Riot,
La Düsseldorf,
Barclay James Harvest,
Thee Headcoats,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Mad Mike,
CMW,
the Sonics,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Cure,
Sonic Youth,
The American Breed,
Sugar Minott,
Hoover,
Babytalk,
The Saints,
Marmalade,
Kayak,
Robert Görl,
Cameo,
The Electric Prunes,
Barry Ungar,
Guru Guru,
Heaven 17,
a-ha,
Television Personalities,
Sparks,
Deepchord,
Black Bananas,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Royal Trux,
Schoolly D,
OOIOO,
Colin Newman,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Brand Nubian,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Easy Going,
Curtis Mayfield,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Eve St. Jones,
Flamin' Groovies,
Sun Ra,
Wolf Eyes,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Outsiders,
Country Teasers,
Funkadelic,
The Barracudas,
The Misunderstood,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.