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 Romania and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the güiro 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 Kerrie Biddell to the rock 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 Quantec. All the underground hits.
All These Immortal Souls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Zero Boys record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fluxion record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minutemen,
Q and Not U,
Qualms,
Harry Pussy,
The Selecter,
Dark Day,
Pere Ubu,
Warsaw,
June of 44,
Nik Kershaw,
Lalann,
The Move,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
the Soft Cell,
The Raincoats,
Motorama,
Monks,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Althea and Donna,
Mary Jane Girls,
Index,
The Pop Group,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Stooges,
Erasure,
The Flesh Eaters,
Organ,
The Remains,
Blossom Toes,
Robert Görl,
The Blues Magoos,
The Smiths,
Slave,
Todd Rundgren,
Mo-Dettes,
Japan,
Yellowson,
Rapeman,
Ituana,
Tubeway Army,
Charles Mingus,
Jimmy McGriff,
Robert Hood,
Alice Coltrane,
Ultra Naté,
The United States of America,
The Detroit Cobras,
Hasil Adkins,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Johnny Clarke,
Heaven 17,
The Monks,
Todd Terry,
Hashim,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Yazoo,
Gang Green,
T.S.O.L.,
Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys.
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.