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 Madagascar and from Copenhagen.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 808 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 Suburban Knight to the techno 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 Dorothy Ashby. All the underground hits.
All The Count Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Throbbing Gristle 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Knickerbockers,
Bootsy Collins,
ABBA,
Cheater Slicks,
Barclay James Harvest,
Jacob Miller,
Funkadelic,
Suicide,
Marine Girls,
Reagan Youth,
Yaz,
FM Einheit,
New York Dolls,
The Names,
Lungfish,
John Lydon,
Todd Terry,
Laurel Aitken,
Arthur Verocai,
MDC,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Cluster,
Cybotron,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Buzzcocks,
Vladislav Delay,
Roxette,
Mission of Burma,
The Dead C,
Subhumans,
Main Source,
Altered Images,
Boredoms,
The Fortunes,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Ultimate Spinach,
Scrapy,
Flipper,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Yellowson,
Lyres,
James White and The Blacks,
The Fire Engines,
B.T. Express,
The United States of America,
Adolescents,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Danielle Patucci,
Gang Starr,
Susan Cadogan,
Glenn Branca,
Simply Red,
H. Thieme,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Boz Scaggs,
Roger Hodgson,
U.S. Maple,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Skarface, Skarface, Skarface, Skarface.
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.