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 Nicaragua and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 Portland and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Flamin' Groovies to the rock kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Chris Corsano. All the underground hits.
All Silicon Teens tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Buzzcocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
T. Rex,
Ohio Players,
Alison Limerick,
Bootsy Collins,
The Dead C,
Flamin' Groovies,
E-Dancer,
The Red Krayola,
Rekid,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Young Rascals,
Banda Bassotti,
Mad Mike,
Camouflage,
The Techniques,
The Fall,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
John Cale,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Leaves,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Second Layer,
Mark Hollis,
Judy Mowatt,
Crash Course in Science,
Yellowson,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Tremeloes,
Harry Pussy,
Tres Demented,
Eddi Front,
The Busters,
Schoolly D,
Cymande,
Howard Jones,
Max Romeo,
In Retrospect,
Suicide,
The Sonics,
Roger Hodgson,
Accadde A,
Skarface,
The Offenders,
Sarah Menescal,
Monolake,
Alton Ellis,
Technova,
Pierre Henry,
The Last Poets,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Fear,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Juan Atkins,
Glenn Branca,
Minutemen,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Boogie Down Productions,
Make Up,
The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs.
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.