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 Tonga and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 mellotron 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 Sexual Harrassment to the grime kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 The Index. All the underground hits.
All Danielle Patucci tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang Starr 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Radio Birdman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang Gang Dance,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Wings,
Panda Bear,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Pulsallama,
Brass Construction,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Althea and Donna,
The Names,
Sexual Harrassment,
Q and Not U,
Intrusion,
Swell Maps,
T.S.O.L.,
The Busters,
Mark Hollis,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Stereo Dub,
The Zeros,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Wake,
Magma,
These Immortal Souls,
a-ha,
Drexciya,
The New Christs,
Cal Tjader,
Man Parrish,
Cymande,
Steve Hackett,
Jeff Lynne,
Curtis Mayfield,
Niagra,
Charles Mingus,
Iggy Pop,
Easy Going,
Deakin,
the Soft Cell,
Von Mondo,
Pantytec,
Simply Red,
the Bar-Kays,
Audionom,
The Angels of Light,
Bill Near,
Donald Byrd,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Theoretical Girls,
Quando Quango,
Sparks,
Hasil Adkins,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Scan 7,
One Last Wish,
Juan Atkins,
Terry Callier,
Crispian St. Peters,
Marine Girls,
Black Pus,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Knickerbockers,
Cameo, Cameo, Cameo, Cameo.
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.