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 Turkmenistan and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 John Cale to the grunge 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 Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All Glenn Branca tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Sisters of Mercy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Seeds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Pus,
The Knickerbockers,
Procol Harum,
Kayak,
the Fania All-Stars,
Section 25,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Kinks,
Minutemen,
Masters at Work,
Marcia Griffiths,
DNA,
Drexciya,
Fat Boys,
Yellowson,
Crooked Eye,
Pantaleimon,
Albert Ayler,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Crime,
Eden Ahbez,
The Move,
The Cowsills,
Flamin' Groovies,
Bush Tetras,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Motorama,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Radio Birdman,
Urselle,
Barrington Levy,
X-Ray Spex,
Television Personalities,
Ice-T,
Stockholm Monsters,
Q and Not U,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Adolescents,
Neu!,
Oneida,
The Durutti Column,
Bronski Beat,
Q65,
The Last Poets,
Brothers Johnson,
The Busters,
The Cure,
Minnie Riperton,
Blancmange,
Henry Cow,
Lindisfarne,
UT,
The Litter,
Ultravox,
Stiv Bators,
David Bowie,
Idris Muhammad,
K-Klass,
Connie Case,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Maurizio, Maurizio, Maurizio, Maurizio.
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.