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 Madagascar and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Be Bop Deluxe to the disco 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 Gang Green. All the underground hits.
All Steve Hackett tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crime record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 spring reverb and a synthesizer 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 arpeggiator and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
This Heat,
Black Flag,
Bill Wells,
Mr. Review,
Groovy Waters,
The Angels of Light,
Ronnie Foster,
Scrapy,
The Searchers,
The Gun Club,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Franke,
Oneida,
Deepchord,
Electric Prunes,
Circle Jerks,
Agitation Free,
Liliput,
Nico,
Moby Grape,
Barclay James Harvest,
Rites of Spring,
Eurythmics,
Marc Almond,
The Busters,
Pet Shop Boys,
Eve St. Jones,
Arab on Radar,
Judy Mowatt,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Sonics,
Black Pus,
Hardrive,
DJ Style,
Model 500,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Flesh Eaters,
Spandau Ballet,
Magazine,
Aaron Thompson,
X-102,
Whodini,
D'Angelo,
Eric B and Rakim,
Mary Jane Girls,
ABC,
Infiniti,
Popol Vuh,
H. Thieme,
Sex Pistols,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Standells,
Guru Guru,
Soul II Soul,
Matthew Bourne,
Junior Murvin,
The Birthday Party,
Archie Shepp,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
A Certain Ratio,
Minor Threat, Minor Threat, Minor Threat, Minor Threat.
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.