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 Solomon Islands and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Johannesburg.
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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Deadbeat to the rock kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Nation of Ulysses. All the underground hits.
All Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Avey Tare record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 a snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a A Flock of Seagulls 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?
Sexual Harrassment,
Funkadelic,
The Electric Prunes,
Quando Quango,
Josef K,
Flamin' Groovies,
Visage,
Reuben Wilson,
Reagan Youth,
Pagans,
MDC,
Skaos,
Shoche,
Ice-T,
Babytalk,
U.S. Maple,
the Bar-Kays,
Skriet,
Althea and Donna,
Yusef Lateef,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Brand Nubian,
Moss Icon,
David McCallum,
Marvin Gaye,
Don Cherry,
Buzzcocks,
Lyres,
Wire,
The Dead C,
Cymande,
Connie Case,
Arcadia,
Alison Limerick,
OOIOO,
Grey Daturas,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Trojans,
Henry Cow,
cv313,
Hot Snakes,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Godley & Creme,
Joe Finger,
Rotary Connection,
Brothers Johnson,
Pantaleimon,
Depeche Mode,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Cheater Slicks,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Five Americans,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Liliput,
Radiohead,
Circle Jerks,
The Stooges,
Section 25,
Wolf Eyes,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Prince Buster,
Soft Cell, Soft Cell, Soft Cell, Soft Cell.
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.