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 Macedonia and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 marimba 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 Lafayette Afro Rock Band to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Kings Of Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All The Moody Blues tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sam Rivers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 linndrum and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Robert Hood record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Laurel Aitken,
Wasted Youth,
Eric B and Rakim,
Oblivians,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Stockholm Monsters,
These Immortal Souls,
The Slits,
Ultra Naté,
the Normal,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Motorama,
Kaleidoscope,
Boredoms,
Man Parrish,
ABBA,
John Coltrane,
Sam Rivers,
Colin Newman,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Suburban Knight,
L. Decosne,
Shoche,
Cameo,
Roy Ayers,
The Modern Lovers,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Wake,
Intrusion,
The Kinks,
Terry Callier,
Junior Murvin,
Wire,
June of 44,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Malaria!,
Wings,
EPMD,
Second Layer,
The Young Rascals,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Tomorrow,
Moss Icon,
Judy Mowatt,
Unwound,
AZ,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Aswad,
Throbbing Gristle,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Ten City,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Cure,
Al Stewart,
Niagra,
Marvin Gaye,
Subhumans,
Gerry Rafferty,
Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman.
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.