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 Azerbaijan and from Hong Kong.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Roxette to the funk 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 Sex Pistols. All the underground hits.
All The Gladiators tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dead C 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sam Rivers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tom Boy,
a-ha,
Con Funk Shun,
Banda Bassotti,
Soulsonic Force,
Tropical Tobacco,
Suicide,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Arthur Verocai,
The Leaves,
Hot Snakes,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Offenders,
The Index,
Gang Starr,
Max Romeo,
Unrelated Segments,
Dark Day,
FM Einheit,
Cecil Taylor,
Kenny Larkin,
Gabor Szabo,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Trumans Water,
Iggy Pop,
Frankie Knuckles,
Joe Finger,
Make Up,
The Searchers,
Country Teasers,
The Move,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Gories,
The Buckinghams,
Eli Mardock,
Public Enemy,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Los Fastidios,
Davy DMX,
Scion,
The Dead C,
Glambeats Corp.,
Ultravox,
Negative Approach,
Man Parrish,
The Barracudas,
Lucky Dragons,
Man Eating Sloth,
Agitation Free,
The Moleskins,
Pylon,
The United States of America,
Siglo XX,
The Last Poets,
Bizarre Inc.,
Q and Not U,
Sight & Sound,
Kevin Saunderson,
Mission of Burma,
Depeche Mode,
Joyce Sims, Joyce Sims, Joyce Sims, Joyce Sims.
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.