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 Hungary and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 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 Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson 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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All Ralphi Rosario tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every DNA record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Visage,
The Gap Band,
Derrick May,
Suburban Knight,
Faust,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Davy DMX,
Skaos,
Das Ding,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Saccharine Trust,
Agitation Free,
Roger Hodgson,
Bobby Womack,
The Alarm Clocks,
Technova,
Y Pants,
The Fortunes,
John Holt,
Cymande,
Cybotron,
Kerrie Biddell,
Cheater Slicks,
Interpol,
Mr. Review,
Eric Copeland,
EPMD,
Connie Case,
The Count Five,
Guru Guru,
Albert Ayler,
Jeff Mills,
Jacques Brel,
Ponytail,
New York Dolls,
F. McDonald,
New Order,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Blues Magoos,
Boredoms,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Urselle,
Clear Light,
Girls At Our Best!,
La Düsseldorf,
Crooked Eye,
10cc,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Banda Bassotti,
The Music Machine,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Kaleidoscope,
These Immortal Souls,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Reuben Wilson,
The Names,
Bob Dylan,
Ohio Players,
R.M.O.,
Vaughan Mason & Crew, Vaughan Mason & Crew, Vaughan Mason & Crew, Vaughan Mason & Crew.
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.