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 Guatemala and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Jacob Miller to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Los Fastidios. All the underground hits.
All Johnny Osbourne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nick Fraelich record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an organ 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 oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sonics,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Music Machine,
Basic Channel,
Wire,
Camouflage,
The Misunderstood,
The Litter,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Fluxion,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Yellowson,
Black Flag,
The Slits,
UT,
The Beau Brummels,
Das Ding,
Marc Almond,
Chris Corsano,
Stockholm Monsters,
Graham Central Station,
Eddi Front,
Sister Nancy,
The Move,
the Human League,
The Alarm Clocks,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Blake Baxter,
Eric Dolphy,
Alice Coltrane,
Eve St. Jones,
Terry Callier,
The Names,
The Red Krayola,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Todd Rundgren,
Deadbeat,
Minny Pops,
Fear,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Hot Snakes,
Rosa Yemen,
Unwound,
Ituana,
Alton Ellis,
the Slits,
Avey Tare,
Bill Wells,
Circle Jerks,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Laurel Aitken,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Toasters,
Accadde A,
Wings,
Sex Pistols,
Scott Walker,
Nils Olav,
Gichy Dan,
Duran Duran,
Franke, Franke, Franke, Franke.
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.