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 St Lucia and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Amon Düül to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 The Dead C. All the underground hits.
All Trumans Water tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Justin Hinds & The Dominoes 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jacques Brel record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Alarm Clocks,
Toni Rubio,
Pussy Galore,
Sex Pistols,
Malaria!,
Niagra,
Theoretical Girls,
the Association,
Arab on Radar,
Joey Negro,
Radio Birdman,
Barbara Tucker,
The Birthday Party,
the Soft Cell,
Ornette Coleman,
Mars,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Cheater Slicks,
Dark Day,
The Busters,
Hashim,
The Residents,
John Holt,
Roger Hodgson,
Blossom Toes,
The Cowsills,
The Pretty Things,
Harpers Bizarre,
Ten City,
Stiv Bators,
Black Pus,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Rekid,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Dead Boys,
New Order,
Bob Dylan,
Aaron Thompson,
Buzzcocks,
Davy DMX,
Animal Collective,
Wings,
Flash Fearless,
Graham Central Station,
Blake Baxter,
Boz Scaggs,
Pagans,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Music Machine,
Ohio Players,
The Litter,
The Evens,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Jimmy McGriff,
Yellowson,
David Bowie,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Saints,
Man Eating Sloth,
Absolute Body Control,
X-Ray Spex, X-Ray Spex, X-Ray Spex, X-Ray Spex.
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.