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 Burkina and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Masters at Work to the crunk 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 Gerry Rafferty. All the underground hits.
All Jeff Lynne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eli Mardock record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 sitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Metal Thangz record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Pus,
The Moleskins,
Juan Atkins,
Black Moon,
The Toasters,
Mary Jane Girls,
Donald Byrd,
Pylon,
The Pretty Things,
The Monks,
Joey Negro,
Brand Nubian,
The Birthday Party,
Stiv Bators,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Searchers,
Slave,
Man Parrish,
KRS-One,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Gregory Isaacs,
Joe Finger,
The Music Machine,
The Offenders,
Kayak,
Babytalk,
Warsaw,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Suicide,
Intrusion,
Underground Resistance,
Mo-Dettes,
Traffic Nightmare,
Stetsasonic,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Busters,
Whodini,
Motorama,
Erasure,
Schoolly D,
Lou Christie,
Fear,
Andrew Hill,
Flamin' Groovies,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Standells,
The Knickerbockers,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Red Krayola,
Urselle,
The Sound,
Pussy Galore,
Minnie Riperton,
Ten City,
Mantronix,
Symarip,
Ossler,
Crispy Ambulance,
Television Personalities,
The Dave Clark Five,
Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster.
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.