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 Rwanda and from Hong Kong.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy to the disco kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Selector Dub Narcotic. All the underground hits.
All the Swans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang Gang Dance 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Procol Harum record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Heaven 17,
Jeru the Damaja,
Sight & Sound,
Siglo XX,
Gastr Del Sol,
48th St. Collective,
Barrington Levy,
Unwound,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Quadrant,
Electric Prunes,
The Black Dice,
Robert Hood,
The Moody Blues,
X-101,
Bootsy Collins,
Crime,
Fad Gadget,
The Standells,
The Residents,
Popol Vuh,
The Mummies,
FM Einheit,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Trojans,
Arthur Verocai,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Walker Brothers,
The Smoke,
Hoover,
The Gun Club,
Wolf Eyes,
The Gap Band,
Al Stewart,
Althea and Donna,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Godley & Creme,
The J.B.'s,
Soft Machine,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Public Image Ltd.,
Panda Bear,
Average White Band,
Monks,
Archie Shepp,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Banda Bassotti,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Gabor Szabo,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Golliwogs,
Soft Cell,
Funkadelic,
Public Enemy,
Ossler,
Television,
Bronski Beat,
The New Christs,
Stiv Bators,
Radiohead, Radiohead, Radiohead, Radiohead.
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.