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 Kiribati and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Darondo to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Wasted Youth. All the underground hits.
All Ice-T tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bang on a Can All-Stars record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Traffic Nightmare record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Echospace,
Desert Stars,
Barbara Tucker,
Rod Modell,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Tomorrow,
Patti Smith,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Robert Görl,
The Fortunes,
Sex Pistols,
Metal Thangz,
The Index,
Angry Samoans,
Laurel Aitken,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Lungfish,
Camouflage,
Marvin Gaye,
10cc,
The Dead C,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Pantytec,
DJ Style,
The American Breed,
Soul II Soul,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Max Romeo,
Jeru the Damaja,
Andrew Hill,
Von Mondo,
Althea and Donna,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Hashim,
Duran Duran,
Don Cherry,
The Doors,
The Fall,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Harry Pussy,
Stereo Dub,
Dennis Brown,
Jerry's Kids,
Ohio Players,
Maurizio,
Donny Hathaway,
Eric Dolphy,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Bobby Byrd,
Lakeside,
Frankie Knuckles,
T. Rex,
The Gun Club,
Sandy B,
The Leaves,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Brothers Johnson,
Boogie Down Productions,
Bob Dylan,
Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment.
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.