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 Bahrain and from Sao Paulo.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 rhodes 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 Bobby Sherman to the grime kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Warsaw. All the underground hits.
All The Angels of Light tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cabaret Voltaire record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Frankie Knuckles record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb 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 Searchers,
Lou Reed,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Wolf Eyes,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Hardrive,
Ronnie Foster,
Pere Ubu,
Thee Headcoats,
Rites of Spring,
The Divine Comedy,
Soft Cell,
Interpol,
Iggy Pop,
Buzzcocks,
Ultimate Spinach,
Man Eating Sloth,
Sonny Sharrock,
T. Rex,
the Sonics,
The Detroit Cobras,
Q65,
Joy Division,
Aswad,
Supertramp,
Darondo,
Letta Mbulu,
Anakelly,
Chrome,
Saccharine Trust,
Delon & Dalcan,
Yusef Lateef,
Basic Channel,
Gichy Dan,
Loose Ends,
Marmalade,
Slick Rick,
The Seeds,
The Blues Magoos,
EPMD,
Wings,
Thompson Twins,
The Real Kids,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Theoretical Girls,
The Velvet Underground,
Mad Mike,
Brick,
The Motions,
The Toasters,
Donald Byrd,
Brothers Johnson,
Neil Young,
The Grass Roots,
Albert Ayler,
Minnie Riperton,
The Trojans,
Y Pants,
8 Eyed Spy,
Scott Walker,
ABBA,
Crime,
Glenn Branca,
Robert Görl,
Little Man, Little Man, Little Man, Little Man.
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.