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 Bahamas and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 Michael McDonald 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 Oppenheimer Analysis to the funk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Quadrant. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott Heron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Laurel Aitken 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sex Pistols 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?
Gastr Del Sol,
Ash Ra Tempel,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Lindisfarne,
Sex Pistols,
Country Teasers,
Lebanon Hanover,
Scott Walker,
New York Dolls,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Amon Düül,
Lower 48,
Technova,
Amon Düül II,
Suburban Knight,
Joe Finger,
Sun City Girls,
Roy Ayers,
Camouflage,
Donny Hathaway,
The Moody Blues,
Byron Stingily,
The Stooges,
F. McDonald,
Tommy Roe,
The Trojans,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Moleskins,
Eve St. Jones,
The Birthday Party,
Traffic Nightmare,
Aloha Tigers,
Susan Cadogan,
Stiv Bators,
Minutemen,
Monks,
Freddie Wadling,
Ludus,
Cluster,
Ken Boothe,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
a-ha,
Tears for Fears,
Thompson Twins,
Colin Newman,
Black Moon,
Das Ding,
Warren Ellis,
Quantec,
Jerry's Kids,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Altered Images,
Circle Jerks,
Peter & Gordon,
Harry Pussy,
Scratch Acid,
A Certain Ratio,
Goldenarms,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Kinks,
The Smiths, The Smiths, The Smiths, The Smiths.
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.